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Published In
this space
•very month
The greatest
star of the
screen t
We're full of the milk of human kindness
at this writing.
★ ★ ★ ★
We're gay, carefree. You can borrow
money from us if you want to.
★ ★ ★ ★
In short, we're in good humor, and all
because we've seen the most alluring
musical motion picture since our movie-
going began . . . M-G-M's "Meet Me
In St. Louis".
★ ★ ★ ★
Whoops! Back you go to the old World's
Fair in St. Louis as the guests of the
Smith family, of which our favorite
members are played by Judy Garland
and Margaret O'Brien.
★ ★ ★ ★
What gay, nostalgic, wonderful enter-
tainment this is, enriched in every scene
by rainbow Technicolor!
★ ★ ★ ★
Judy Garland seems
to have been born
for the part of
Esther, a high
school girl just
awakening to love-
for the boy next
door. Esther is young, innocent, viva-
cious, and golden- voiced.
★ ★ ★ ★
You will have to decide for yourself
whether you prefer Judy's provocative
presentation of a young girl in love or
Judy's singing. Perhaps you'll find, as
we did, both talents perfectly fused in
"Over The Banister", "The Boy Next
Door", or that bell-ringing success,
"The Trolley Song". And these are
only three of eight songs!
★ ★ ★ ★
Judy (that is, Esther)
has a sister— an impish,
devilish, utterly lov-
able kid named
"Tootie". In this part,
Margaret O'Brien will
become everyone's
sweetheart— if she isn't
everyone's sweetheart
already.
★ ★ ★
Tom Drake, one of M-G-M's latest
finds plays the boy next door and heads
a splendidly-chosen supporting cast in-
cluding Mary Astor, Marjone Main,
Lucille Bremer, Joan Carroll, Henry H.
Daniels, Jr., Leon Ames, and Harry
Davenport.
★ ★ ★ ★
The script was written by Irving Brecher
and Fred F. Finklehoffe. Arthur Freed,
who gave us "Girl Crazy", produced,
and Vincente Minnelli directed. They
all have cause for pride.
★ ★ ★ *,
Mark our words: gg*^ 01
M-G-M's "Meet Me
In St. Louis" will
strike you as about
the best tuneful re-
past ever displayed
for your delight !
—£ea
modern screen
I *A CHRISTMAS SHE'LL NEVER FORGET
On Christmas, you weren't meant to be away from Mom, cold ana
hungry and whimpering inside. That was one June Allyson Christ-
mas, though, and that's why she's working to make up on this ^
one (color spread)
♦JOHNNY COMES MARCHING HOME
To a flock of medium-rares, breakfasts in bed, plaid shirts-and
everybody's appreciation for a Gl job well done. It's Payne, we ^
mean (color spread)
NOBODY'S SWEETHEART • , , . , „
While there's a war on, Van Johnson is sticking close to his stag
apartment-and keeping an eye peeled for a likely missus 30
^FofV^lit second, Danny Kaye stops looking like a gremlin
glances at his wife and murmurs, "Sylvia's the headonmyshoul-
ders-can't think of a better head I'd rather be attached to U
DRFoArM« SSK, Diana Lynn thought her "star bright, star light"
routinTwas losing its kick. But when you're 18 and swarming with ^
dimples, how can you lose?
YOUR FAVORITE STARS OF 1944 by Louella Parsons
broken-down jeep, he was to become one of your top stars
'IE ME WERE SINGLE . . .!" by Hedda Hopper
wS Plan's crazy-about dogs and opera singers and big feet ^
and sh-sh — his wife!
'TlVa ZfllflelfwTLer forget . . Wng a starry path
across the Atlantic, playing to front-line Yanks and staunch ^
Jugoslavs, ducking bombs in Naples
June Allyson in M-G-M's "Music For Millions" "
PAGES John Payne in 20th-Fox's "The Dolly Sisters"
Margaret O'Brien in M-G-M's "Meet Me In St. Louis SO
Mary Anderson in 20th-Fox's "Colonel Effingham's Raid
21
FEATURES | Editorial Page
BEAUTY I Perfume Weaves a Magic Spell
FASHION 'Modern Screen's Fashion Guide (color spread) <6
6
OEPTS. | Movie Reviews lg
Co-Ed 5&
Good News by Louella Parsons
Super Coupon
What's Cookin'. America ?-The Ronald Reagans
COVER: Joan Leslie in Warners' "Rhapsody in Blue" and "Hollywood
Canteen." Kodachrome by Albin.
^ICTORYl AiRERT P DELACORTE, Executive Editor
I HENRY P ' MALMGREEN, Editor
BUY SYLVIA WALLACE. Hollywood Editor
united I KAY HARM, Hollywood Promotion Manager
fflU states QTTO sTORCH, Art Director
s/S^gs BILL WEINBERGER, Art Editor
?BONDS GUS GALE. Photographer
" 'Editorial Assistants: Charis Zeigler Annette Bellinger, Mickey Ghidalia
Service Dept.: Ann Ward. Informat.on Desk: Beverly Linet
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By Virginia Wilson
TO HAVE AND HAVE NOT
■ I'd be willing to bet that the year's most famous love scene will be the one
in "To Have and Have Not" between Humphrey Bogart and Lauren Bacall.
Bogart's tough, casual-but-romantic love-making has always been tops, and the
sultry blonde Lauren is a perfect foil for him. That girl is really dynamite.
Sexy one minute, almost child-like the next, and always with that tremendous
charm. The picture has all the fascination of "Casablanca," and its theme song,
"How Little We Know," will probably rival "As Time Goes By." Hoagy
Carmichael wrote it, and he sings it himself with Lauren. You'll love him as
the odd, plaintive piano player in the hotel in Fort de France.
Fort de France, on the island of Martinique, isn't a very safe place in 1940.
The Vichy group is in charge, but there are Free French forces at work, too.
Henry Morgan (Humphrey Bogart) takes fishing parties out in his boat and
tries to mind his own business and keep out of politics. He succeeds, until
Marie (Lauren Bacall) comes along. Marie is tall and blonde and so thin that
Morgan calls her "Slim." We'll call her that, too. "Slim" is broke, and when
she gets pushed around by the Vichy police, Morgan decides to get her out of
Martinique. To obtain the money for her plane fare to the States, he takes on a
job for the Free French — and thereby gets himself into plenty of trouble.
The job is to smuggle a couple of De Gaullists {Continued on page 8)
(Lauren Bacall) comes
to the island of Marti-
From the moment strange, fascinating "Slim'
nique.she brings trouble to Henry Morgan (Humphrey Bogart) and pal (Walter Brennan) They
become implicated in an attempt to help her escape the Vichy pohce by plane to the U. b.
/
3 fate l&ep come . . .
into tfctf t /leaUS
It's the story of guys
tike Alan, Pinky and Irving.-*
of girls like Dorothy, Helen,
Ruth. ..of things like gallantry,
guts and glory! Filmed
from the Army Air Forces'
own smashing Broadway
and Hollywood stage hit!
Prt. ION McCALUSTER • JEANNE GRAIN • Sgl,
CdI. IE 1 COBB • I/Sgt PETER UNO HAYES
EDMQND O'BRIEN • JANE BALL • SgL MARK DANIELS • JO-CARROLL DENNISON • Cpl. DON TAYLOR • JUDY HOLLIDAY
.alanbaxier- DARRYL E. ZANIICK
directed t>»
' stage and Screen Plan t>v Moss Hart
MOVIE REVIEWS
(Continued from page 6)
into Fort de France. It would have been
all right if the patrol boat hadn't come
along. As it is, there's some shooting, and
while Morgan gets away with it, the eyes
of the police are upon him. Furthermore,
"Slim" hasn't taken the plane home. She
cashed in the ticket and is waiting at the
hotel when Morgan gets back. "Did you
want me to go?" she asks. She and Cricket,
the piano player, are writing a song to-
gether. She sings it the night the police
captain and his men come for Morgan. The
night Morgan really goes into action in
the old Bogart manner. In addition to
everything else, "To Have and Have Not"
can boast one of the best supporting per-
formances of all time. Walter Brennan, as
old Eddie, Morgan's rum-soaked pal, is
something. Excuse me while I go back to
see it again. — War.
P. S.
The water front of Fort de France, capi-
tal of Martinique, was duplicated on the
Warner Brothers back lot as a major setting
for this production, as much of the ac-
tion takes place at sea. . . . The thirty-
foot cabin cruiser is almost an identical
duplicate of Bogart's own boat, the Sluggy.
It was chartered and brought to the studio
to cruise the tank sets with Bogey at the
wheel. . . . Hoagy "Stardust" Carmichael
makes his debut as a screen actor. He
plays a piano in the Fort de France cafe
and introduces his own new composition
"How Little We Know." Mercer did the
lyrics, and Hoagy and Lauren Bacall sing.
FRENCHMAN'S CREEK
In swashbuckling elegance, this story of
handsome pirate and lovely lady wends its
leisurely, romantic course. Technicolor
gives the scenes on the coast of Cornwall a
spectacular beauty, and red hair does the
same for Joan Fontaine. Arturo De Cor-
dova is properly dashing as the pirate.
This Dona St. Columb, beautiful as she
is, cannot be commended on the score
either of virtue or prudence. She breaks
her marriage vows, is a traitor to her
country and murders a man. Yet there is
a gay, reckless courage and gallantry about
her that makes it easy to forget all this.
Her husband, Harry (Ralph Forbes), is a
fat gambler, too stupid to see that his
friend, Rockingham (Basil Rathbone), is
determined to seduce Dona. To escape
from them both for a while, Dona takes
her children to their country place in
Cornwall. She finds the house practically
closed up, the regular servants gone, and
in their place one William (Cecil Kella-
way), a sly, disconcerting old fellow who
seems to know far too much about her.
The first night, Dona discovers tobacco and
a book of French essays in the stand by
her bed. She sees William hasten off to
answer a low whistle from the dark wood
nearby. So when, the next day, she hears
that a French pirate is terrorizing the
coast and is thought to hide in that neigh-
borhood, she puts two and two together
and gets five. It turns out to be the right
answer, and the pirate turns out to be
the right man for Dona. Their romance
is passionate, tempestuous and dangerous
beyond belief. Dona accompanies her lover
on a pirate raid and gets back just in time
to avoid discovery by Harry and Rocking-
ham, who arrive from London.
Rockingham takes one look at Dona's
glowing eyes and knows that another man
has succeeded where he has failed. He in
his turn adds two and two and gets five.
"Frenchman's Creek" is Joan Fontaine's
picture throughout. — Par.
P. S.
Nearly six months in the making, this
Technicolor film nicked the company ex-
chequer for a sum of $3,600,000. . . . One
of the reasons for this tremendous figure
was the long location trip necessary. Only
available stretch of California seacoast re-
sembling the coast of Cornwall was found
in Mendocino County, 600 miles north of
Hollywood. An inlet of the sea called
Little River was chosen, and the location
troupe of 250 persons set up headquarters
on the site of the abandoned lumber town
of Albion. ... A second unit, working
under the direction of Hal Walker, re-
mained another four weeks shooting back-
ground material.
THE RRIGHTON
STRANGLER
Do actors really live the parts they play
on the stage? Here is the story of one
who lived it h. 1 too well. Reginald Parker
(John Loder) is a charming, popular actor
who has achieved a terrific success in a
play written by his fiancee. The play is
called "The Strangler." It has been running
for a year in blacked-out London to
packed houses, but now Parker insists that
he'll play it no longer. "I'm tired of
strangling people," he says. "I've been
doing it too long." The play's last per-
formance is given on New Year's Eve.
Afterward, at midnight, the theater is hit
by a bomb. No one knows what happened
to Parker, and when his fiancee hears
nothing from him, he is presumed dead.
Actually, he was only hit on the head
and stunned. When he comes to, he has
forgotten that he is Reginald Parker. He
remembers only the character of Edward
Grey, the "strangler" in the play. He
knows that Grey went to Brighton and
strangled the Lord Mayor and the Chief
of Detectives. So, obeying a terrible inner
compulsion, Parker entrains for Brighton.
He talks with apparent normality to a
pretty WAAF who happens to sit beside
him. Her name is April Manby (June
Duprez) , and she's going home to visit her
mother and father. She finds this hand-
some stranger pleasant and considerate and
introduces him to her family when they
arrive. He tells them his name is Edward
Grey and that he is "on business."
A weird, grisly business it is. For
Parker's subconscious mind tells him he
must strangle the Lord Mayor and the
Chief of Detectives. He has the silk cord
he used in the play in his pocket, and he
fingers it from time to time with a mad,
unholy eagerness. He makes his plans
carefully, and everything goes according
to schedule. The Lord Mayor is an old
man. Too old to fight off this terrible
stranger who wishes him to die.
The next murder is equally easy. Chief
Inspector Allison is walking alone on a
dark street when the silk cord tightens
around his throat. But now the strangler is
haunted by fear. Does April Manby sus-
pect him? If she does, she too must die.
John Loder gives a brilliant performance
as the mad strangler. Rose Hobart, Michael
St. Angel and Miles Mander are among
the cast. — RKO.
P. S.
This picture was adapted to the screen
by Arnold Phillips and Max Nosseck from
an original story they had planned for
publication us a novel. . . . The well-
known European director, Max Nosseck,
brings to its production the continental
(Continued on page 10)
4*N
1* '
■
with J
STEV
OHN RIDGEL? • JOHN ALEXANDER • CRAIG
ENS • BARBARA BROWN • ALAN MOWBRAY
Directed by JAMES V. KERN
Screen Play by James V. Kern and Sam Hellman • Additional Dialogue by Wilkie Mahoney
From the Stage Play by Joseph A. Fields* Produced by Max Gordon
JACK L WARNER, Executive Producer
F-ocW by MARK HELLINGER
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touch which distinguishes many of the
better screen mystery thrillers. . . . Before
coming to Hollywood, Nosseck directed
films in Central Europe and England and
enjoys the distinction of having at one
time directed Buster Keaton in a French
film for which the famous frozen-faced
comedian was forced to learn French.
MEET ME IN ST. LOUIS
It is 1903, and a pretty high school girl
is sitting on the front porch humming
"Meet Me In St. Louis, Louis." The rest
of St. Louis is singing the same song, for
it won't be long now before the Worlds
Fair opens there. But Esther Smith (Judy
Garland) happens to be humming it extra
loud, as out of the corner of her eye she
glimpses the boy next door. He's a very
handsome boy who has just moved in
there, and so far he has shown no signs of
knowing Esther is alive.
"What's he doing now?" she says under
her breath to her sister, Rose (Lucille
Bremer). "Lighting his pipe," Rose tells
her. Esther sighs ecstatically. "I love a
man that smokes a pipe." Rose isn't much
interested. She's worried about how she
can get the rest of the family out of the
dining room by the time her long distance
phone call comes through from New York,
at six-thirty. Her Yale beau, Warren
(Robert Sully) , has said he would call her
then. Maybe he's going to propose at last!
She can't bear it if she has to talk to him
in front of Mother (Mary Astor) and Dad
(Leon Ames) and her little sisters. The
little Smith girls, Tootie (Margaret
O'Brien) and Agnes (Joan Carroll), are
usually considered "adorable children," but
Rose knows how devastating their com-
ments can be.
Rose gets her call, but it's not a pro-
posal. Warren asks her how she is and
reports on the weather in New York and
inquires about the weather in St. Louis.
Then the time's up! Very discouraging!
Esther is discouraged, too. John (Tom
Drake), the boy next door, continues to
ignore her. In fact it takes her all that
summer to get him to the point where he
calls her Esther instead of Miss Smith.
Then one day they go out with a crowd to
look over the site of the Fair which will
open soon, and somehow they get separ-
ated from the rest. Esther makes with the
eyelashes, and— at long last— love blooms.
Mr. Smith picks this awkward time to
decide to move the family to New York.
Just when everything is exciting, with
Warren coming to St. Louis, and Tootie
almost getting arrested, and Esther going
around with stardust in her eyes. Do
they go? Well, I'll leave you to find out.
Given Judy Garland and Margaret
O'Brien, supported by a fine cast, any
picture would be good. This one has the
additional advantages of an amusing story,
and Technicolor.— M-G-M.
P. S.
Gang on the set learned about Judy's
famous Thursday, maids -night- out fried
chicken dinners. Flocked over to share the
fun of helping toss salad and open the
Pepsis. Itfs a free for all, make-it-yourself
dinner where everyone, especially the
cook, has fun. . . . Margaret O'Brien, be-
coming famous for her recitation of the
Gettysburg Address, is asked to recite at
most every party she attends. Went to
Mama with a weighty new problem (they
arise daily) . She wanted to know why she
never did an encore when everyone^ else
on the program did encores. "There's no
encore to the Gettysburg Address, dear,'
explained her mother. "Then," decided the
young actress, "let's write one!"
(Continued on page 12)
AUTOGRAPHS!
Yours, yours, all yours — and all for a quarter
each! Twenty-five cents nets you Turner or Gable
or Bey or Miranda or Sinatra — one dollar gets
you all five.' Yup, we've got an extra, five-for-
the-price-of-four-special, a cut rate cut-down
which gives you a bonus of one signature free
for every four you buy. And snazzy they are,
too, NAA emblem cards personally autographed
by any star you choose from the list below, with
the money going to Mrs. Virginia Zanuck's
NAVAL AID AUXILIARY Fund which provides
free medical care, canteens, lodgings and other
necessities to sailors and their families. So — come
'n' give it
June Allyson
Don Ameche
Mary Anderson
Dana Andrews
Jean Arthur
Lynn Bari
Lionel Barrymore
Anne Baxter
William Bendix
Joan Bennett
Ingrid Bergman
Turhan Bey
Janet Blair
Joan Blondell
Humphrey Bogart
Charles Boyer
Eddie Bracken
Barbara Britton
Jim Brown
Eddie Cantor
Claudette Colbert
Ronald Colman
Gary Cooper
Joseph Cotten
James Craig
Jeanne Crain
Dick Crane
Laird Cregar
Bing Crosby
Xavier Cugat
Helmut Dantine
Linda Darnell
Bette Davis
Laraine Day
Gloria De Haven
Olivia de Havilland
Tommy Dlx
Brian Donlevy
Tom Drake
Jimmy Durante
William Eythe
Jinx Falkenburg
Alice Paye
Errol Flynn
John Garfield
Judy Garland
Peggy Ann Garner
Greer Garson
Paulette Goddard
Betty Grable
Farley Granger
Cary Grant
Bonita Granville
Kathryn Grayson
Sidney Greenstreet
Alan Hale
Dare Harris
Signe Hasso
June Haver
Dick Haymes
Susan Hayward
Rita Hayworth
Paul Henreid
Katharine Hepburn
John Hodiak
Bob Hope
Marsha Hunt
Walter Huston
Betty Hutton
Bob Hutton
Richard Jaeckel
Harry James
Gloria Jean
Van Johnson
Jennifer Jones
Brenda Joyce
Danny Kaye
Gene Kelly
Kay Kyser
Alan Ladd
Hedy Lamarr
Dorothy Lamour
Carole Landis
Priscilla Lane
Joan Leslie
John Loder
Myrna Loy
Ida Lupino
Diana Lynn
Roddy McDowall
Lon McCallister
Dorothy McGuire
Irene Manning
Trudy Marshall
Marilyn Maxwell
Ray Milland
Carmen Miranda
Thomas Mitchell
Maria Montez
George Montgomery
Constance Moore
Dennis Morgan
George Murphy
Lloyd Nolan
Jack Oakie
Merle Oberon
Margaret O'Brien
Virginia O'Brien
Donald O'Connor
Maureen O'Hara
Dennis O'Keefe
Michael O'Shea
John Payne
Gregory Peck
Susan Peters
Walter Pidgeon
William Powell
Tyrone Power
Frances Rafferty
George Raft
Ella Raines
Martha Raye
Ronald Reagan
Donna Reed
Ginger Rogers
Roy Rogers
Rosalind Russell
Ann Rutherford
Eddie Ryan
Peggy Ryan
Randolph Scott
Ann Sheridan
Dinah Shore
Phil Silvers
Ginny Simms
Frank Sinatra
Red Skelton
Alexis Smith
Ann Sothern
Barbara Stanwyck
Shirley Temple
Gene Tierney
Franchot Tone
Spencer Tracy
Sonny Tufts
Lana Turner
Robert Walker
John Wayne
Cornel Wilde
Esther Williams
Jane Withers
Monty Woolley
Teresa Wright
Jane Wyman
Loretta Young
Robert Young
Enclosed please find 25c in □ stamps,
□ paper-wrapped coin, for an NAA card
autographed by
f I understand I am to enclose 25c for each
l additional autograph I request but that only
$1.00 will now pay for 5 autographs.
My name is
I live at
City
State
NAA EDITOR
; r - ..... MODERN SCREEN
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I'LL BE SEEING YOIJ
The most important thing about "I'll Be
Seeing You" is probably not the fact that
it has a scene where Shirley Temple gets
a little bit tight. But when I think of the
days of "Little Miss Marker —tsk! tsk!
time certainly marches on! Shirley s role
is only incidental to the main love story,
that of Ginger Rogers and Joseph Cotten.
It's a love story in which boy is kept from
getting girl by two inescapable facts.
A Boy is a psychoneurotic case on leave
from an Army hospital. B— Girl is on
Christmas vacation from prison.^
If that "vacation from prison business
sounds a little odd, just remember that
prisons aren't like they used to be, and
wardens are learning psychology. Mary
(Ginger Rogers) is a well behaved prisoner
who has served four years of her seven-
year term. The warden thinks she should
begin to adjust herself to the outside world
again. Mary is guilty of manslaughter, in
the eyes of the law, although its difficult
to see how she could have avoided doing
what she did. She was working in an office,
and her boss invited her to a party. When
she got there, she found she was all the
"party" there was. The boss was drunk
and on the make, and in the ensuing
struggle he fell out of the window. If it
had been a first floor window, no one
would ever have known anything about
the incident. But it was the fourteenth,
and Mary was, in the eyes of the law, the
cause of his death.
Zach (Joseph Cotten) is a psychoneurotic
case because he has been a good soldier.
Too good. He did his job and killed a lot
of Japs, and finally his system couldn't take
it any longer. He cracked up.
He and Mary meet on a train. They both
have ten days, but Zach doesn't know
where Mary is from or that she has to go
back He only knows she gives him such
a feeling of calm support that he wants
to stay near her. So he gets off with her
at the small town where she s going to
visit her aunt and uncle, the Marshalls.
The Marshalls have a daughter, Barbara
(Shirley Temple). At seventeen, you re
inclined to dramatize things, and Barbara
regards Mary as definitely an outcast from
society. One day she talks too much, and
the delicate, beautiful love affair which
has begun between Zach and Mary is
shattered. Still, it might be possible to
pick up the pieces, if two people cared
enough. — U.A.
P. S.
A brand new motion picture institution
is launched with the release of this picture.
It's Vanguard Films, Inc., which is offering
"I'll Be Seeing You." . . . Ginger Rogers
has the fashion tables turned on her. Had
to step down from her sartorial platform
and let Shirley Temple climb up to be
glamorized. Ginger, as a prisoner on
Christmas furlough, couldn t have much
of a wardrobe variety. . . . Speaking of
Christmas furloughs for convicts— Van-
guard, seeking information on such a plan
from parole boards, discovered its being
widely discussed, pro and con, in all of
the forty-eight states. . . . Specialists at
Hoff General Hospital at Santa Barbara
were called in as technical advisers on
scenes dealing with Joe Cotten as a re-
turned soldier, victim of psychoneurosis.
TOMORROW THE WORLD
Can a boy reared under the Nazi regime
ever be a decent citizen by American
standards? That problem is presented
with fascinating realism in this picture
made from the Broadway play. The re-
markable performance of young Skippy
Homeier is responsible for much of its
INFORMATION DESK
(Questions of the Month)
By Beverly Linet
Hello:
Gosh, Christmas already! It doesn t
seem possible that so much time has
elapsed since I gazed longingly at the
beach ads and sort of wondered why
my office didn't sprout an adjoining
swimming pool. But time has flown,
and a lot has happened since then.
I've seen scads of new pre-release
pix and premieres, and have dis-
covered some terrific new up-and-
comers. Have patted Trigger, taken
cowgirl tintypes with Janie Withers,
rubbed shoulders with Joseph Cotten
at an opening night, and run plunk
into Orson Welles in my rush to get
to the movies. I was even present
when that villainous character threw
those eggs when our Frankie was ap-
pearing on the Paramount stage.
So, isn't there something you want
to know? If yes, just drop a line with
that stamped, self-addressed envelope
to- Beverly Linet, Information Desk,
MODERN SCREEN, 149 Madison
Avenue, New York 16, New York.
Luv,
Bev.
Ethel Miller, Brooklyn, N. Y.: WHY
IS IT WHEN I REQUEST PIX
FROM THE STUDIOS AND
STARS, I NEVER RECEIVE
THEM? . . . Due to the severe paper
shortage, all the studios are unable
to distribute free photos, with the ex-
ception of M-G-M, which sends out
3 x 4's. However, if you wish photos
from any studio, include 25c with
your request for size 8 x 10, and 10c
for 5 x 7's.
Florence Shack, L. I.: MAY I HAVE
LON McCALLISTER'S ARMY AD-
DRESS? . . . It's agin' studio rules
to spout service and home addresses,
but since Lon is not at any camp now
(he's touring in "Winged Victory"),
you can best reach him at Box 2990,
Hollywood, California.
appeal. He is aided by such expert crafts-
men as Fredric March, Betty Field and
Asnes Moorehead. Joan Carroll is effective
as the small girl who tries to teach the
Nazi boy sportsmanship. - .
She has very tough going indeed in her
attempt. Emil Bruckner has lived his
twelve years in Nazi Germany He has
nothing but contempt for the softness and
stupidity of these American relatives who
take him into their home. He regards his
uncle Michael (Fredric March) with cu-
riosity and his cousin Pat (Joan Carroll)
with condescension. She is a girl, and
girls are not important in the Nazi world.
Emil is shocked to find that his uncle
is engaged to a Jewess. Leone (Betty
Field) is an attractive, intelligent school
teacher, but Emil can't understand how
Michael can marry a member of an out-
cast race. He decides to break up this
attachment immediately.
It is odd how slow the members of the
household are to realize the sinister char-
acter of their visitor. Perhaps it is because
in America boys of twelve are occupied
with baseball or making toy airplanes, not
spy work and doctrinization. Only Frieda
the German cook, sees the danger. Emil
ingratiates himself with his aunt Jessie,
and she soon is on his side against Leone.
He even persuades his uncle, who only
sees him on his best behavior that he
is becoming Americanized. So Michael is
shocked and angry at Leone's increasing
antagonism toward the boy.
(Continued on page 14)
Kf^'S MOST EXCITING ROMAIC CO^H
WITH
COBUM
Screen Play by Virginia Van Upp and F. Hugh Herbert
Produced by VIRGINIA VAN UPP • Directed by CHARLES VIDOR
13
Use this
SUPER VALUE BRUSH
by the makers of
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Pat is non-committal. She does every-
thing possible to make Emil feel at home,
but she can see that all their efforts are
getting nowhere. Emil is still a Nazi. It
is through Pat, eventually, that the situa-
tion comes to a climax. It is through her,
too, that it is resolved.— U. A.
P. S.
In bringing this story to the screen,
Producer Lester Cowan believes he is also
bringing movie audiences the meanest,
nastiest juvenile menace in history. It
is twelve-year-old Skippy Homeier, who
created the role on Broadway, and reaches
heights in villainy that would embarrass
a Karloff, a Lorre or a hugosi. . . . Fred-
ric March had seen the play in New York
and knew that Skippy was likely to steal
the picture, but eagerly accepted Cowans
offer because of the importance oj the
story. . . . Miss Betty Field, almost f or
the first time in pictures, played a straight
role. . . . Through all the assault, bat-
tery and mayhem in the picture, Skippy
and Rudy Wissler were the only casualties.
They came down with poison oak as a
result of falling into the stuff during film-
ing of their battle on the final day of the
shooting schedule.
THE THIN MAN GOES
HOME
Crime statistics should take a rapid
drop, now that the Thin Man is back on
the job. William Powell as Nick Charles
is still the most fascinating detective on
record, and Myrna Loy is still the most
charming detective's wife. Asta once
more leers happily at lamp posts.
Nick and Nora are transposed from their
usual gilded haunts of sin to a new locale.
It's the sleepy town of Sycamore Springs,
where Nick grew up. He hasn't been
back for a long time. His father Dr.
Charles (Harry Davenport) doesn't ap-
prove of detectives, particularly the
Scotch-drinking variety. When Nick
is asked to take a case involving subversive
activities in his home town, he protests
wildly. "I'd die of thirst!" But he goes
at last, still protesting, and Nora goes, too.
Nick's mother (Lucille Watson) is de-
lighted to see them. And when Dr.
Charles finds that Nick has switched from
Scotch to sweet cider, he greets them with
enthusiasm. Not so enthusiastic are some
other characters around town. "Crazy
Mary," for instance, a witch-like fugitive
from a strait- jacket, conks Nick over the
head with a coffee pot at the first oppor-
tunity. The president of the bank regards
Nick's detecting with a coldness that might
stem from a guilty conscience.
Something peculiar is certainly under
way in the town. Nick's arrival acts as
a catalytic agent, and within a few days,
there are two murders. Then there is the
matter of the painting which Nora bought
as a birthday present for Nick, and which
appears and disappears in the most out-
rageous fashion. Nick is not entranced
with the painting, but he objects to having
his possessions swiped at regular intervals.
Nora, of course, knows who did the
murders. She even confides his name to
Nick. Unfortunately, her candidate for
the electric chair is a New York police
detective in disguise. But he makes a
nice suspect to keep her out of mischief ,
while Nick does the real sleuthing. Until
you've seen Nora "tailing" her suspect, you
haven't lived! It's all very merry, as well
as mystifying, and you'll find Gloria De
Haven, Helen Vinson, Donald Meek and
Anne Revere among those under suspi-
cion.— M-G-M.
U;t,*ltL"i»fQL^Lr,« tZ, Jk 'cau» our „ppl» «rt U« long-
another wonderful Dell book.
QUESTIONNAIRE
e? Write 1, 2, 3
What stories and features did you enjoy most in our January issue
at the right of your 1st, 2nd and 3rd choices.
Journey Among Warriors (John
.. □
A Xmas She'll Never Forget
(June Ally son)
Johnny Comes Marching Home
(John Payne) U
ton McCallister, Life Story, Part I □
Dream Walking (Diana Lynn) □
Nobody's Sweetheart (Van Johnson) □
Which of the above did you like LEAST?
What 3 stars would you like to read about in future issues?
order of preference
Garfield) □
Oh, Kaye! (Danny Kaye) □
Your Favorite Stars of 1944 by
Louella Parsons LI
"// He Were Single . . ./" (Walter
Pidgeon) by Hedda Hopper
Good News by Louella Parsons □
List them 1, 2, 3 in
14
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ADDRESS THIS TO: POLL DEPT.. MODERN SCREEN
149 MADISON AVENUE. NEW YORK 16. N. Y.
P. s.
A painting of Bill Powell, copied and
photographed onto canvas by an Italian
artist, was discovered on the walls of a
Venetian castle by Sgt. J. C. Lewis (Diana's
brother) in Italy. Sgt. Lewis mailed the
picture home in a shell case. Bill gave it
to his mother as a birthday gift. . . . Dur-
ing production Mrs. Asta (wife of the fam-
ous movie star) gave birth to quintuplets.
Present for the proud father came to the
set. It was a box with five tiny fire-plugs,
and the card said, "From one doggoned
good family to another. Lassie." . . .
Donald and Mrs. Meek left for Mexico
after Don's scenes were completed. It's
their first vacation for ten years. Both
have been studying Spanish for several
months. . . . Myrna learned to jitterbug
from her maid, Theresa Penn, who is a
national champion. Theresa supplied the
jive records, and the two spent hours to-
gether cutting rugs.
AND NOW TOMORROW
When Alan Ladd plays a doctor, he
leaves out the bedside manner. He uses
a hypodermic needle as if it were a ma-
chine gun. In "And Now Tomorrow" his
Dr. Merek Vance is as hard and cynical
as any gangster he ever played, yet under-
neath the hardness are the qualities which
a good doctor needs most — courage and
understanding.
He needs understanding especially for
the case of Emily Blair. Emily, played
by Loretta Young, is the aristocratic and
beautiful owner of the Blairstown mills.
She has never come into contact with
poverty or illness — until she has an attack
of meningitis which leaves her stone deaf.
Emily is engaged to Jeff Stoddard (Barry
Sullivan), but she has too much pride to
let the marriage go through, now that she
has lost her hearing. She tries to give
Jeff back his ring, but he makes her keep
it and tells her she'll soon be cured.
His optimism is not justified. For two
years Emily travels from one specialist
to another, only to learn that there is no
cure for deafness caused by meningitis.
At last she comes back to Blairstown, and
her. family doctor (Cecil Kellaway) per-
suades her to let his young assistant, Dr.
Vance, try some new serum treatments.
Vance and Emily are antagonistic from
the beginning, yet they feel a subconscious
attraction. Vance is the son of a mill
worker and has hated the Blair family
since his poverty-stricken childhood. Em-
ily resents this attitude and also his cavalier
rudeness to her, as a patient. Yet when
she knows him better, she admires him
both as a doctor and as a man.
Jeff, meanwhile, has involved himself
in a secret romance with Emily's sophis-
ticated sister, Janice (Susan Hay ward).
You can't blame him too much — Emily
has been away a long time, and she never
did love him in Janice's wild, reckless
fashion. But he doesn't want to hurt Em-
ily, and in spite of Janice's pleas, is pre-
pared to marry her if she still wants him.
She thinks she does want him. She
even plans the wedding and rehearses it.
Then two things happen in quick succes-
sion which change her whole life. — Par.
P. S.
Paramount's picturization of the Rachel
Field best seller brings Alan Ladd back
before the cameras following ten months'
service in the United States Air Corps.
. . Cecil Kellaway bicycled between the
sets of "And Now Tomorrow" and "Prac-
tically Yours." N. Y. was also paging him
for "Out of This World," but other com-
mitments prevented him from accepting.
in wartime as in peace
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FAREWELL, MY LOVELY
Not since "The Glass Key" has there
been as tough, fast-moving and absorbing
a thriller as "Farewell, My Lovely. The
characters in it aren't nice people, and
they'll probably give you nightmares, but
they'll also give you an exciting two hours.
Marlowe, the private detective, is a new
kind of role for Dick Powell, and he han-
dles it well. Marlowe is no Sunday School
type, but he has his good qualities. One
of them is that he never lets a client down.
Even after the client has been murdered.
As you can imagine, this doesn't endear
him to the murderer. In fact, from that
first moment when a huge hulk of a man
called "Moose" Malloy comes into Mar-
lowe's office, no insurance company would
give you a dime on the detectives life.
On the face of it, what "Moose" (Mike
Mazurki) wants is simple. He wants
Velma. When he went to jail six years
ago, Velma, a beautiful redhead, said she d
be waiting for him when he came out.
Now he's out, and where's Velma? That s
what he wants Marlowe to discover.
Marlowe gets another case the same
night, but an odd coincidence. Or is it
a coincidence? A man named Marriott
asks him to go along while he buys back
some jade stolen by crooks. The trip
doesn't turn out so well. Marlowe is
slugged, and while he's unconscious,
someone murders Marriott.
Tracing his late customer's activities
leads Marlowe into some peculiar situa-
tions. He meets old Mr. Grayle and his
voluptuous young wife (Claire Trevor).
He also meets Grayle's daughter, Ann.
Anne Shirley makes her the only nice,
normal person in the whole picture, so
it's no wonder he falls in love with her
But he still has to find out who killed
Marriott, so he plays along with Mrs.
Grayle— who plays rough. Through her,
he is led to a psychiatrist, is beaten up
thoroughly and finally meets "Moose'.
Malloy again. Marlowe makes some fancy
deductions, and the shooting starts. When
it's all over, you'll need hot milk and aspi-
rin to soothe your shattered nerves. — RKO.
P. S.
This is based on Raymond Chandler's
book, which is one of the most widely
read of modem detective novels. . . .
Locale is Los Angeles and environs, and
movie-goers will see shots of the notorious
"skid row," glamorous Hollywood, swanky
Beverly Hills and beautiful Malibu Beach.
. The giant heavyweight wrestler,
Mike Mazurki, while still active in the
grunt-and-groan profession, has been scor-
ing well as an actor. He won the part of
Moose Malloy against three "name" com-
petitors, via a screen test taken the day
after he returned from a wrestling tour.
TOGETHER AGAIN
As light as a powder puff, and as mad
as the flower hat upon which the plot
hinges, this is a perfect vehicle for Irene
Dunne. Playing opposite her is suave
Charles Boyer and not-so-suave-but-very-
helpful Charles Coburn. Mona Freeman,
Charles Dingle and Adele Jergens com-
plete the roll call. . . ,
If Anne Crandall (Irene Dunne) nadnt
bought that hat, she would still be the
mayor of Brookhaven, Vermont. She
would still be devoting her time to carry-
ing on in her late husband's footsteps and
spoiling her step-daughter, Diana. Anne's
husband had been the mayor and central
character of the town, and when he died,
Anne took over. "But Jonathan wouldnt
approve of the way you're wasting your
life" her father-in-law (Charles Coburn);
tells her. "He'd want you to have fun.
Anne has gotten out of the habit of
having fun. When the statue of her hus-
band in the village square loses its head m
a windstorm, Anne is asked to go to New
York and get a sculptor to do another
statue. But she is shocked by her father-
in-law's advice "to get a crazy hat and have
a good time for yourself."
However, she does succumb to a crazy
hat, and the rest seems to follow. The hat,
consisting of a single rose, is devastatmgly
becoming. So much so that the sculptor
Corday (Charles Boyer) mistakes her for
a model. He takes her out to dinner, and
there Anne runs into trouble. She spills
wine on her dress, and while she's changing
it in the powder room, the night club is
raided. The police think Anne is the strip
tease artist, and she's tossed into jail.
She leaves New York the next day, but
the damage has been done. The hat has
caused Corday to fall in love with her.
He follows her to Vermont where Annes
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YOUR FAVORITE STARS OF 1944
include the first forty-five on the M. S. popularity poll.
1. Frank Sinatra
2. Alan Ladd
3. Pvt. Lon McCallister
4. Van Johnson
5. Betty Grable
6. Capt. Ronald Reagan
7. Lana Turner
8. Gene Kelly
9. Shirley Temple
10. John Payne
11. Bing Crosby
12. Lieut. Jean Pierre Aumont
13. Pvt. Donald O'Connor
14. Alice Faye
15. Dennis Morgan
16. Lieut. Tyrone Power
17. Sonny Tufts
18. Merchant Seaman Dick Jaeckel
19. Rita Hayworth
20. Greer Garson
21. S2/c Farley Granger
22. (Tied) Judy Garland
(Tied) Helmut Dantine
Dana Andrews
Bob Walker
Paulette Goddard
27. Roy Rogers
Gloria De Haven*
Sonja Henie
. .. Betty Hutton
31. June Allyson*
32. Errol Flynn
33. Cary Grant
34. James Craig*
35. Joseph Cotten
36. Sgt. Glenn Ford
George Montgomery
Gloria Jean
Bill Eythe*
Clark Gable
Dick Haymes*
Turhan Bey*
Deanna Durbin
Danny Kaye
Peggy Ryan
24
25
26
28
29
30
37.
38.
39.
40.
41.
42.
43.
44.
45.
*Low ra%KZ7tolaTiaTZrlas only recently appeared in a ™«Jj «JJJ
SREEN poll since "Two Girls And A Sailor" was released.
stepdaughter gets a yen for the sculptor.
The rest is catch-as-catch-can until the
statue of Jonathan once more loses its
head, and Anne loses her heart. — Col.
P. S.
Irene Dunne has learned to jitterbug!
Claims she had the best teacher in the
world — her own daughter, Mary Frances
Griffin. . . . Requests from overseas
servicemen often ask for records. Since
it's impossible to send regular discs
through the mails because of the break-
age, Irene has been recording songs on
cardboard discs which are just large
enough for a verse and a chorus. . . .
Irene has also turned composer and
written a song for the WAVES titled
■ Long May They WAVE." She's the first
Hollywood star to make U. S. service-
women her personal concern. When she
learned that they are not admitted to many
of the canteens in the Celluloid City, she
started inviting them to her home for a
weekly tea when she is between pictures.
THE FUGITIVE
Gloria Jean has to cope with the diffi-
cult role of a blind girl with supernatural
powers, in this new picture. She is more
convincing than you might expect. The
title role is played by Alan Curtis — a fugi-
tive from the police throughout the picture.
Frank Craven, Frank Fenton, Grace Mc-
Donald and Minna Gombell give him
moral or immoral support, depending on
which side of the law they're on.
Cliff Banks (Alan Curtis) is a fugitive
because he has been innocently involved
in a bank robbery. The origin of the in-
volvement dates back a few years to San
Francisco. Cliff comes into a night club
there, a fresh, cocky kid who thinks he
knows all the answers. He falls for the
singer, Phyllis (Vivian Austen), who in-
troduces him to a bad hat named Sam
Baker. Through Sam, Cliff gets mixed
up in a safe cracking job, and after that
the cops catch him and pop him into San
Quentin for three years. When he comes
out, he's determined to go straight. He
goes to work in a factory and is leading
an upright, if monotonous, existence when
whom should he meet on the road to town
one day but good old Sam! He gives him
a lift to town. He isn't even suspicious
when Sam asks him to wait in front of
the bank while he cashes a check. It isn't
until he hears shots that Cliff realizes he
has once more been tricked into taking
part in a robbery. The police are hot on
his trail, and he's once more a fugitive.
Cliff stops in his flight at the ranch of
Clem Broderick and his daughter, Jane
(Gloria Jean). Jane is blind, but nature
has endowed her with senses the rest of
us do not possess. Cliff is impressed by
her lovely innocence. That night he
dreams that he kills Clem and pursues
Jane madly across the ranch. He wakes
up shuddering and decides to leave before
he succumbs to the temptation to make
the dream come true. Does he go? Or
does Jane's sweetness reform him? This
department will be glad to hold the stakes
if anyone would care to bet. — Univ.
P. S.
Gloria rehearsed for her scene, which
co-stars a swarm of bees, garbed in net-
ting and a long, tight-fitting robe. In
actual shooting she had to brave the swarm
with bare arms and legs. Strangely, she
dAdn't suffer one sting. . . . Frank
Craven celebrated his sixtieth year in
the theater by stating he intends to die
with his stage make-up on. He's one of
America's outstanding collectors of theat-
rical keepsakes, and on his birthday he was
presented with the stage door of the Bos-
ton Museum Theater— famous in the 1800's.
HOLLYWOOD'S
PAN-AMERICAN
MUSICAL ROMANCE!
Romance rides on the wings of
melody and gaiety! Thrill to
the new delights of an en-
chanted land abounding in
exciting escapades of dash-
ing vaqueros and dazzling
senoritas.
REPUBLIC
PICTURE
By Jean Kinkead
£J IIIMFORMATCC*.'/ /y ,
Tongue-tied at strategic moments? Or worse, a
nonsensical babbler? You needn't be any more!
■ Making with the right words comes awfully hard to
some of us. Oh, we speak the language all right; it's
not that. It's coping with difficult situations— like ac-
cepting a compliment or dishing one out; like brushing
off a persistent beau without crushing same; like dis-
agreeing with someone violently but with dignity. How
can you possibly be smooth when you keep finding
yourself speechless at crucial moments, or worse still,
uttering all the wrong noises? That's right, joe, you
can't, but take heart. Here are some bright, right words
for you to study and remember.
"Gee You're Beautiful!" Maybe he won't say it in
so many words. More likely it'll come out, "Whee,
lookit you!" Anyway, sugar, it's a compliment, and
it's your cue to be pleased. If you get flustered and
fluttery, saying, "My hair never looked worse," or
"What? In this old bag?" you'll embarrass him to
death, and he'll wind up thinking you don't look so hot
at that. Next time he says something sweet, beam at
him and say, "There you go stealing my line. I was just
thinking how wonderful you look," or "I don't believe
it, but I love it," or just plain, "Gosh, thank you, Bill."
The guys like a kind word too now and then, so don't
forget to say approving things about new jackets, new
overcoats, even a new hair-cut, if you can, in conscience.
Don't lay it on; just let it go at, "Mmm, mad for the
new coat," or— unfeminine, but okay nonetheless— give
them the old double whistle.
/ Disagree: It starts off just plain chit-chat with you
and Jane and Dot, but somehow (Continued on page 68)
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iiiff |ltd,|tiii but ft ill Itiiln
■Yesterday, Al Delacorte called me on the phone,
"Frank," he said, "I know you're a busy guy. But would
you like to ... I mean would you be willing to speak
a little piece about Christmas on our readers' page?
You see . . ."
I cut in. "Sure I see. And if I'm busy, so what? I
love Christmas. I love your readers. And, if you must
know, I love MODERN SCREEN!"
So here I am — a writer! I ought to call this the "Re-
venge of Frank Sinatra." All this year (not to mention
last year) , everyone has been too nice to me. Everything
has come my way. I've been dying for this chance to get
back and tell how I feel about you ... at Christmas.
I'm a pushover for Christmas. I go for the tall, sweet-
smelling trees, the tinsel balls, the puddings and eggnog
— even Crosby's "Silent Night." But above all, I cherish
the thought that Christmas is the day dedicated to
friendship.
These days, when hatred is still fighting crazily for
its dictatorship, it is good to know that the sacred legend
of Christmas is alive in the hearts of Americans: Peace
on earth. Good will toward men.
My one regret this Christmas will be that I cannot go
to each loyal friend and say, "You've been wonderful.
Merry Christmas* And God bless you!"
P.S. If I were to get a Christmas card from you (ad-
dressed to Modern Screen), I'd not only be tickled *
silly. I'd be deeply touched.
a xmas shell never forget
June Allyson can't forge* it — rain and
tears and aching for Mom and running away.
■ June trudged along in the rain, and her small
suitcase flopped against her leg.
Three days before Christmas. Fine Christmas it
was going to J>e. She'd probably get pneumonia
and die, and then she'd be sorry. On second thought,
si/ 1 as hei not die just yet. But she'd certainly
hover on the brink for a good long time, and the
doctor'd say, "She's sinking rapidly," and for one
awful minute they'd think she was dead, then her
lids would flutter, and she'd smile this angelic smile,
faint but forgiving —
People turned to look at her. Rain pouring down
and no umbrella. Could they tell she was running
away? After all, twelve wasn't so young— she just
happened to be small for her age. Besides, you
couldn't call it really running away— not when you
were going to New York to find your mother.
There was the station now. If only she had the
money for a ticket, how easy it would be. Hop on
the train, change to the subway, get off at 138th
and wait in the flat till Mother got home from
work. Mothers understand. She always understood.
Maybe she'd let June stay till after Christmas.
Well, she didn't have the money, not even a
penny of it, so she'd just have to walk. Her eyes
turned from the station to the rainswept road ahead,
and back. It wouldn't hurt to go in and rest for a
while— give the rain a chance to let up maybe.
June ond Gloria ("The Comb") live in almost identical apts. across
the street from' each other, yet never double date. Puppy, whose
trainer didn't know its name or sex, is a gift for Margaret O'Brien.
Separated early from her mother, June had a lonely ch, dhood She d
like this coming Xmas to be brightest yet to make up fo. Jast years
when, sick and tired, she was p.a.^ing at N. Y. s Cap.tol Theater.
22
mm
iiit
M 1
iijs 1
IJS'
in* '
i
]
3P'#
June shares her love of dogs with Bette Davis, still has
a soft spot in her heart for her mutt "Winsocki" who
one day went out looking for her — and never returned!
By Ida Zeitlin
a. -
Denying those 4 baths per day are for weight-whittling purposes,
June washes fier hair daily but is careless about her clothes, drops
'em all over the apt. and neglects mending and pressing angle.
Al Delacorte had a finger in the sizzling John Payne-Glo De Haven
romance. Seems Sue Ladd arranged to have John pick her up for
Ye Ed's party and bingo! they've been dating 3, 4 times a v/eek!
continued-
23
a xmas she'll never forget
She sat down at the end of a bench near the
radiator, took off her hat and shook out some of the
water, adjusted her braced back to the back of the
seat. If not for the brace, she wouldn't get tired
so quick. Three years now she'd been wearing it-
three years since she'd been caught under that fall-
ing tree in front of Granny's little house. And the
doctor said she'd have to wear it two more years
at least. Well, anyhow they'd stopped shaving her
head where the wound had been. Her hair was
getting almost long enough to stick a bow in— if
she had a bow —
My, it was nice and warm here. The radiator
was even making her drowsy. She leaned her head
back, and pictures began forming ...
Last Christmas at Granny's. Something twisted
inside her, the way it always did when she thought
of Granny. But last Christmas she'd still been
happy. Come to think of it, she'd never been sad in
Granny's little house. Not even through those long
months in bed after the accident. Granny 'd always
been there to make her feel good, and Mother stayed
with them a lot. It didn't cost as much as coming
out to Long Island. All she had to do was ride to the
end of the subway line for a nickel, then take the
streetcar.
Last Christmas she'd come in laughing out of .
the cold and put her packages under the tree.
June's present was the loveliest white silk blouse.
This Christmas-
June's eyes filled. She knew she'd been bad, but
.it hadn't seemed so dreadful when she did it —
All she wanted was to keep her father's picture
for a while, so she could look at it again. She'd
never seen a picture of her father. She'd always
kind of hated to ask Mother, because it might hurt
her. But it wouldn't hurt Auntie, who wasn't even
related to her father —
So she'd begged till Auntie finally showed her
the picture. Just for a second, without giving her
a chance to see what he really looked like. It wasn't
enough for June. So after the others were asleep,
she tiptoed out and took it from the dresser drawer
and slipped it under her pillow, thinking she'd take
a real good look in the morning and then put it back.
Generally, she woke up early but this morning she
didn't. She was just kind of half waking up when
Auntie came in.
"June, did you take your father's picture?"
"No," she said sleepily, (Continued on page 85)
Holiday parties always include marshmallow roast She has no
Hence with games, would rather chat. Home from date, she bee
for housekeeper Bess' room, and they sit m dark and gab like k
twin
June sleeps all year in flannel pyiams. In summer u*«
bed near window; in winter, moves to one near door. Toy horse
"Tomby" came from ex-fiance named Tommy, stands near bureau
24
MODERN SCREEN'S Sylvia Wallace helped June pick While Christmas shopping, June couldn't resist buying teddy bear tor crony s
out hat for holiday whirl. She tends toward dark baby. A reckless shopper, she'd grab everything in sight if Bess didn't rein
clothes, has to force herself to wear bright colors. her in. She won't return anything because she's afraid to offend salesclerkl
25
Terrifically clothes-conscious, he goes to a very expensive tailor M Ins ^Z'lthu' Z \°Q ^ °Z
one where he's never satisfied. Before moths banqueted on wardrobe in st orage he *u?*™*°™%™!.
for years, mostly for sentimental attachment. First post-Army role will be lead in The Dolly bisters.
Johnny once held job on strength of his piano-playing, does all nis
composing at keyboard. First song he peddled, "In My Heart,"
brought $25, sold "all of 50 copies" and then dropped into oblivion.
Solitaire's too frustrating to be fun for honest John,
fers bowling, composing, writing, talking. But he
often too tuckered out in Army for anything but
26
On Johnny's last leave before discharge from Army, he
shopped for Julie's Christmas presents and wrapped
'em because he didn't know where he'd be come Dec.
By Fredda Dudley
But Mr. Payne, Army Air Forces retired, in his red and blue
shirt and houndstooth slacks, couldn't forget to salute the colonel!
Once a professional wrestler, Johnny has magnificent 6' 2",
1 85-1 b. physique, which he keeps in shape by daily swim
and 2-hour workout in Terry Hunt's gym 4 times a week.
■ When John Payne was ordered to the Monterey
Separation Center in Northern California, as one of a
group of 5000 pilots, he knew that the job he -and
they had been doing for the Army was completed and
that they were to be placed on inactive status. John
had been a little too old to be trained for combat
flying, but he had done a good job in the training
program — all that is asked of anyone — and now that
he was to be graduated from reveille, he was as eager
as every other demobilized man will be.
On his way to Monterey,, he stopped at the storage
company — where his wardrobe was fighting it out with
the moths — and discovered that he was the owner of
one pair of houndstooth thecked slacks, one some-
what weary navy blue suit, and one salt and pepper
tweed suit. Everything else had been devoured.
With a few choice comments on the patriotism of
American moths entrusted with a serviceman's property,
John packed his remaining clothes and reported for
separation from the armed forces.
That task accomplished, he proceeded first to a
peaceful resort town [Continued on following page)
Simple pleasures of home— eating kumquats off the tree!
An ardent sunworshipper since he came west, he works hard
at getting tan, strips to waist every time Sol peeps out!
nearby (Carmel-By-The-Sea) and rented a hotel room,
then went shopping, to wit* One red and blue plaid wool
shirt, one orange and yellow plaid shirt, one red silk cow-
boy neckerchief, one Paisley ascot scarf. On the double he
returned to his room, shed his khakis and accoutered him-
self in his houndstooth checked slacks, his red and blue
plaid wool shirt, and his red silk neckerchief— knotted at
the side of his throat— and surveyed himself in the mirror.
Very sharp citizen.
Emerging upon the streets, he set out in search of reading
matter. The sale of dark glasses in Carmel rose 127% in
an hour. As John stalked along he met a full colonel, and
habit being stronger than his awareness of his civvies, he
saluted smartly.
The colonel returned the salute, then smiled. "How long
have you been out, son?" he wanted to know.
"Five hours, sir," said John sheepishly.
He bought a copy of Fantastic Stories and a tall bottle
of— say— Pepsi Cola, and returned to his room. Pulling
off his shoes, he plumped up two pillows, turned on the
reading lamp beside the bed, and subsided Into the feathers
with the magazine in one hand and the beverage in the
other. A deep mattress, a sense of aloneness unknown in
barracks, no lights-out order pending, no reveille. Ah,
wilderness were Paradise enow.
The following day John varied his routine by wearing
the salt and pepper trousers, the orange plaid shirt and
the Paisley ascot. He was having a thick, rare steak at the
Russian Inn at noon when two girls from Hollywood (one
of them being Kay Hardy of Modern Screen) strolled past
his booth, recognized him— despite a suntan darker than
Johnny got royal welcome from everyone he ever knew, including po-
liceman on corner beat. In his 25 mos. service, he trained; in Tex.,
Utah Col was transferred to Ferry Command just before discharge.
It was great to be back in make-up room at Fox and
sniff the beautiful smell of greasepaint again! Johnny
started shaving at 10 . . . until Mom caught him at it!
28
a G.I. shoeshine, and a mustache that made Colonna look
like a stripling — and joined John.
That afternoon the three of them hailed a taxi to take
the world-famed Seventeen Mile Drive around the Monterey
peninsula. The cab driver was wearing khaki, so John
asked him how come. The cabby explained that he was
on 3-day pass, and he drove a cab to unravel the trans-
portation snarl and to make a little extra dough. "I just
got out of the Army," John said, to explain his interest.
The cabby looked back over his shoulder and nearly
drove over, a cliff. "Whatcha do with your old khakis?"
When John said they were lying around the hotel room,
the cabby made a deal to acquire the outfit. John took his
name and address and made it a point to deliver the outfit
personally. Good deal by a thoughtful guy.
They reached the celebrated Del Monte Lodge at dinner
time. "Food," drooled John. "Steaks, broccoli with Hol-
landaise sauce. Potatoes, au gratin. Oh, my shattered
nerves, such food." He ended by having a steak and a
dessert concocted of bananas, two kinds of ice cream,
chopped nuts, assorted syrups and a dash of whipped cream.
During his stay in Carmel, John had been trying des-
perately to get train reservations to Hollywood, but it
began to look hopeless. So Saturday morning he arrived at
the apartment of his friends and verbally thumbed a ride
south. They set out at noon and drove along the magnifi-
cent coast highway, singing as they sped.
The trio stopped at a small town to buy gasoline and
the girl manning the gas pump stared admiringly at John
as he crossed the street to buy fruit and sandwiches.
"Mmmm. Good looking, isn't he? Might be a movie star."
One of the girls, always good for a gag, asked, "Don't
you think he looks a lot like John Payne?"
The petrol polly shook her head in a judicial negative.
"More like Ray Milland," she said. Only when John was
tagged by a group of loitering school kids, atad agreed to
give his autograph to the gang, did she admit an error
of identification.
John's first problem upon arriving in Hollywood was to
find a place to five. He was to be a hotel guest for the
single week now allowed travelers, but at the expiration of
that period he had to have a house so that Julie, his hand-
some 4-year-old daughter, could join him.
John's notions about a house were extremely flexible;
there were only two positive requirements, a fireplace and
a convenient spot for his Capehart phonograph recorder.
John's method of securing housing, was direct and in-
genious. He started out in an attractive district, on foot,
and cased the homes. When he found one that appealed
to him, he marched up, rang the doorbell and said to the
astonished householder, "I admire your home very much.
Is it, by chance, for sale?"
After" three days of this, he actually located an elderly
couple in Brentwood who were planning to place their home
on the market the following week. Happy ending: John
bought the house and moved in the following family: Julie,
her nurse, a cook, one dog and one cat.
His home established, John left town on a vacation to
be followed by a Bond tour. Upon his return, 20th Cen-
tury-Fox will have a script ready for him. Also awaiting his
return will be a G.I.'s dream of romance, Gloria de Haven,
with whom John has enjoyed most of his recent dates.
In '39, he spent $5000 on clothes, had reputation as one of
H'wood's best-dressed. Lives in sweaters, slacks around house.
Anticipating post-war property boom, he invested in 15 acres.
Reading in bed was pleasure long untested. Great book-lover, he re-
reads favorite over and over. Among 50 on shelf by bed are "Book
of Pirates" and Plato. Doesn't start novels at night; he'd never snooze!
29
iJftM ^<yW)dX -M iWJ) (u,-fk kwdC
'Just back from a rest at Arrowhead, Van grabs a dance w.th Jan.e
Wyman. He still chuckles over time he swept into club— tell flat on
his face! Whereupon 4 gals rushed to pick him up, dust him ott!
nobody's sweetheart
■ One day last March a girl named Betty, who works for M-G-M, found on
her desk a box brimming over with flowers. The card said: "Thanks again.
Van Johnson."
Betty was enchanted, but puzzled. Why the flowers, and what was Van
thanking her for? Suddenly her eyes- flew to the calendar. March 30th!
Of course! It all came flooding back —
A year ago today— working late at the studio—leaving around 8— reach-
ing Venice Boulevard just in time to hear the horrible sound of crashing
cars_nghting back the sick sense of shock— racing across the street-
helping Keenan Wynn pull Van out of the overturned car— phoning for
help— sitting beside Van till it came, and the awful drip of blood from
his head— Van lying there, trying to smile, speaking only once— "I can't
stand that sound—" wadding up her scarf, putting it where it would deaden
the sound —
Betty brushed the scene from her mind. Van was all right now. Nothing
left but fading scars and the plate in his head. She smiled at the flowers.
How like him to remember the day this way —
Something's left beside the scars and the plate in Van's head. Something
that makes him feel he can't live a full-time life {Continued on page 60)
30
After guesting on CBS Burns and Allen show, Van Brown Der-
by'ed with them and their daughter, Sandra, who is "engaged"
to Van along with 6-year-old Linda Leroy, the director's child.
M-G-M's recent birthday gift was the late John Barrymore's portable dressing room where Van takes time out
from "Thirty Seconds Over Tokyo" to personally autograph those NAA cards. (See p. 10 for details.)
Van's part in the "Dr. GrTlespie" series is being terrifically
built up with the next one to feature Gloria De Haven in "a
junior Bette Davis" role. (Kibitzing with "Good News" Parsons.)
31
All Danny needs is a twist of the heart
to shift from a kid with a shoe-box bank to
a pixie with a double-talk jabber.
■Two kids grew in Brooklyn— on the selfsame
street_and never met. Sylvia's father was a
dentist. Danny minded his office for a dollar
and a quarter a week, but never ran into his
daughter. They attended the same high school
Sylvia went in for music and dramatics. Danny
was wrapped up in baseball and lived for the
day he could start pre-medical work. He didn't
so much as join a debating club.
Years later he walked into a New York loft
building to rehearse for a show. The lyric-writer,
a dark-haired girl, sat at the piano. They were
introduced. "Sylvia Fine— Danny Kaye— "
"And if I hadn't met her," he says, "I wouldn't
be where I am today."
Where he is today, is in a class by himself.
Try to bracket or compare him with anyone else,
and you're lost. The most original talent since
Chaplin, somebody called him. Over four
years ago, he became the rage of New York.
Thanks to Samuel Goldwyn, he now belongs to
the millions.
He remains a little leery of the movies. They
couldn't drag him to the preview of "Up in
Arms.''1 "I'd sit there and die inside," he said,
"or I'd jump up on the screen and try to change
it."
Toughest thing about movies is having no
audience. An audience is the match that sets
him alight. On first nights he sits in his dressing
room, quaking and sweating. The minute he's
onstage, something happens between him and
the people out there that sets him free, gives him
buoyancy and power and the same kind of mas-
tery over his medium that a musician has over
his violin —
Making movies, you have to imagine your
audience. Same as at rehearsals. Danny's no
good in rehearsal. "Let's Face It," his first star-
ring show, featured a fairy-tale number in baby
talk. They opened in Boston. Danny walked
out for the dress rehearsal, to an empty stage
and an empty theater —
"Once upon a time," (Continued on page 79)
The first comedian to play 5 straight weeks at N. Y. Paramount, Danny
signed his 5-year contract after only 5 mos. on B'way and now draws
$100,000 per pic; $16,500 per air show. (Right, at "Ice Follies.")
A
Just recovering from leg fracture, Dan was pros-
trated from earmuff, overcoat scenes during
heat wave! (With Gene Kelly at Truman rally.)
By Jeanne Karr
33
Still padded with baby fat. all sweets turn to hips. Worse, eat-
ing's her joy. Mom severely raps her knuckles at slightest veering
toward goodies. Mrs. L. gave up music teaching to be daughters
bus mgr., chauffeur, housekeeper, personal maid and pvt. teacher!
Evenings at home, Diana retires to her suite on second floor. Bathes
Hit after dinner, turns on bedside radio full blast, does nails or
hair reads in bed. House is Colonial inside and out, patterned atter
Southern mansions she fell in love with on trip 4 years ago.
dream walking
Diana Lynn's lilting along in a dreamy
18-year-old world of roller coasters, dates and ice-cream binges!
■ Mother said, "You've always got your piano to go
back to."
Dolly burst into tears. "I don't want my piano to go
back to. I want to act."
It was silly to cry. But now she'd started, she
couldn't seem to turn it off. Guess she'd been waiting
to cry for a year and a half. Might as well get it
over with.
She understood how Mother felt. Music would always
be Mother's first love. Once it had been Dolly's, too, but
now she loved acting more. So you've-got-your-piano-
to-go-back-to was like waving a red flag under her nose.
Which certainly needed blowing at the moment —
She looked up. A watery smile came through. "I'm
all right now."
"Look, Dolly," said Dad. "You're 15. Your mother
and I both think you're old enough to make decisions.
If acting's what you want, that's fine with us."
"It's what I want all right, if they'll ever let me do it."
"Well, they haven't fired you yet."
That's what she couldn't figure out. They wouldn't
release her, and they wouldn't put her to work. Ever
since "There's Magic in Music," she'd been hanging
around the Paramount lot, doing absolutely nothing.
Except cry on Bill Russell's shoulder. Bill was the
dramatic coach, -and an angel. "Wait, honey," he'd
say. "Don't get discouraged." But how could you not
get discouraged? Every once in a while she'd gather
herself together and go see Mr. Meiklejohn, head of
the studio talent department. {Continued on page 83)
By Karin Pieck
Cooking fascinates her; she can't understand how mixture of
egg, flour, etc., comes up cake! Dates often between pics;
Sat. only daring production; different guy each night. If
she overstays Mom's curfew, she must call and explain.
Is* place: Frank Sinatra —
"Listening to that boy sing is like
getting kissed." (From sneak
preview card of "Higher
And Higher." 1944.)
5th place: Betty Grable— ■
"Just saw a dream walking."
(From sneak preview card
of "A Yank In The RAF." 1940.)
2nd place: Alan Ladd —
". . . Edward G. Robinson — with
dimples . . ." (From sneak
preview card of "This
For Hire." 1942.)
6th place: Capt. Ron-
ald Reagan — "He'd be so nice
to come home to . . ." (From
sneak preview of "Kings
Row." 1941.)
8th place: Gene Kelly —
"Kelly talks with his feet, and
manages to say plenty."
(From sneak preview card
of "For Me and M>
Gal." 1942.)
YOUR
9th place: Shirley Temple —
'She's always had the face of
an angel— but what's this
new look in her eye?"
(From sneak preview card
of "Kathleen." 1941.)
U^fUL itfotj P^M. riWerf
10th place: John Payne —
"Superman's kid brother." (From
sneak preview card of "Gar-
den of The Moon." 1938.)
3rd place: Pvt. Lon Mc-
Callister — -"He reminds me
on Ivory Soap ad grown
up." (From sneak preview
card of "Stage Door
Canteen." 1943.
7th place: Lana Turner —
How do you spell a long, low
whistle?" (From sneak pre-
view card of "They Won't
Forget." 1937.)
4th place: Van Johnson —
"Yessir, he's my baby!" (From
sneak preview card of "Dr.
Gillespie's New Assist-
ant." 1942.) •
FAVORITE STARS OF 1944
■ One more New Year for this writer. She's had many
of them writing for, the motion picture public. I have
a number of people on my list to whom I want to hand
a few posies this New Year 1945. High on my list is
Modern Screen because it is doing something special
for the Hollywood I love.
It is giving many movie-goers of ouf country a chance
to express themselves through the Modern Screen Poll.
The first time I heard about this Modern Screen Poll
was soon after the release of "Stage Door Canteen."
I mentioned young Lon McCallister and used a few of
my best superlatives in complimenting the young man.
Sol Lesser, to whom I was talking, grinned sort of
sheepishly and said Modern Screen was right, so
I asked him what he meant.
WelL it seems the Lesser organization put their money
on another player in the picture and sent out scads
of publicity, thinking "Stage Door Canteen" would
make this player a star overnight. Modern Screen
wouldn't use the publicity. Sat tight and waited to see
what their poll would tell them. The poll skipped that
certain person and cheered for Lon McCallister.
All this made me curious. What was this poll, and
how did it work? I discovered that it works through
all of you who read the magazine. That you vote for
your first three favorites. That number one scores three
points, number two scores two, number three scores one.
Whoever scores the highest is top man for the month,
and so on down the line.
In other words, you spot the coming stars. And let
me congratulate you. So far you've never missed. I'm
not talking about people like Jennifer Jones. That's too
obvious. As "Bernadette," a blind man couldn't have
missed her. What amazes me is the way you point
straight as an arrow at youngsters who first appeared
in relatively small parts — (Continued on page 91)
•37
During babyhood Lon was watched over by Great Dane,
"Blue Lady," and that's been his favorite breed ever
since Early treat was riding around yard on dog s back.
By Kirtley Baskette
Baby pics are bane of Lon's existence. When his mom
and grandma aired them to M. S. s ed for this story,
he pounced on them, refused to reveal sillier ones.
to* tAcCAtusre*
There was plenty of everything a boy could dream for-
a candy factory, a Great Dane. And then, suddenly, there was nothing.
■ The cool late afternoon breeze swept off the
Pacific and sent the white Malibu sands
swirling to pepper about the brown shoulders
of the good-looking young guy stretched out
on the blanket. Lon McCallister reached for
his faded sweater, tugged it over his head
and stood up. He folded the gay umbrella,
shook out the striped beach towel, dusted the
pillow and slipped it under his arm. For a
moment he gazed thoughtfully down the
curving, wave-washed point that pierces the
ocean like a white finger pointing back to
Hollywood. Then he brushed back his wind-
mussed hair and flashed the shy, boyish smile
that has made him "famous.
"Sometimes," said Lon, "Sometimes, I
can't believe it."
"I said someday I'd have a house at Malibu,
and here I am. I said one day I'd be a movie
star and. well, there's (Continued on page 41 1
One of first bit parts was with Walter Brennan in Joe and Ethel Turp. Since
,oining Army he's shed 9 lbs. .and has to have trousers nipped in at waist O.
current crop of books, he prefers -A Tree Grows in B'klyn" and Razor s Edge.
38
continued
He shares hovel with 3 guys in Tent Row at Santa Monica
Sets up at 6:30, takes G.I. bus to studio, starts work at 8.
Free every P.M., he drives to Malibu for dinner with his mom.
Day off "Winged Victory" set and Army chores, Lon beats
crony to phone and invites Jeanne Crain to spend day on
beach. Friend rags him but fails to rattle poised Pvt. McC.
Lon's Pontiac suffered 3 blowouts in week, so MODERN
SCREEN'S ed, Sylvia Wallace, and photog Gus Gale pick
Jeanne up, meet Lon at camp, drive to his Malibu home.
Salt water and sun bake them, give Jeanne a slight burn. Lon calls her
TB or S.F. for reasons he won't divulge. . They met in Zanuck s ottice,
chummed on trips to Santa Maria for sulky-driving lessons for "Home.
40
They never talk politics; he thinks women are idiotic about
subject. Top compliment is that she always looks the
way he envisioned her first time he phoned for date.
'Home in Indiana.' I said I'd fix things so my mother
and grandmother could quit work, and they're right inside
the house. I said I'd keep my old friends, and I still have
them. I said I'd live a larger life than just acting; and I'm
in the Army Air Corps. I said all those things to my
grandmother one day after a Hollywood Boulevard movie.
And they've all come true. It doesn't make sense, does it?"
Lon grinned apologetically and gave that defiant, self-
conscious toss to his head he always does when he's embar-
rassed. As if to say, "All right, go ahead and laugh if you
want to — but that's the truth!"
I didn't laugh. You don't laugh at a boy who makes his
gallant dreams come true. Besides, I was thinking that
maybe the joke was on me. It was morning when I came
down to the beach, and the California sun was low in the
East, but not quite so low as my opinion of the drama to
be found in the life of a twenty-one-year-old star. How
can you write the life story of a kid who's just begun to
live? How in the world can enough happen to a boy be-
fore he turns voting age to make the story worth telling?
41
When gust of sand blows in Jeanne's face, Lon
whisks it off. He offers use of pvt. beach to
Sylvia and Sus, who'll take him up on it next Sun.
On trip to corner drug, Lon shows Jeanne his top comic in "Yank,' is
pleased to find her hep. Before going in Army he gave her a St. Chris-
topher; got pipe from her, which he smokes only when she's with him.
VON tAcCAtXlSTt*
continued-
It was dusk now, and the day — Private Lon Mc-
Callister's one-day furlough after finishing his Army
Air Corps job in "Winged Victory"— had streaked past
like a P-38. I drove home down the Coast Highway
beside the Malibu hills that had turned purple in the
sifting mist, dimming the very real 1944 homeis and
villas on the mountain sides into imaginary castle and
fairy towers. Magic mountains, and beyond them lay
a magic city — Hollywood. A fabled town, a Bagdad-
on-the-Arroyo, where Aladdin's Lamp and the Flying
Carpet and tales as strange as Scheherazade's came true
every day. Cinderellas, Prince Charmings, magic
wands. Rags to riches, dreams come true, glamour,
glitter, gold.
Oh, yeah? Who was I kidding?
Hollywood is a factory town that makes movies,
grinds them out like sausages. It's the hardest working,
dullest joint in the world, jam-packed with ordinary,
harassed Joe and Jane Jerks. It's cut and dried, now—
you have to have a name or know people to get ahead.
All that Magic Hollywood stuff is as out of date as a
director's megaphone. Maybe so, in the good old days
when these Malibu beach villas, which the sun's slanting
rays still spotted as I passed, were fun spots for fabulous
silent stars— Bebe Daniels, the Talmadge girls, Fatty
Arbuckle, Tom Mix and Charlie Ray— (what columnist
had called Lon McCallister another Charlie Ray?)
And yet —
In one of those very houses on that fabled Malibu
strand I had just left a boy {Continued on page 70)
Back at house they sing and dance to his half-dozen recordings
of pet tune, "Easy to Love." He'll be in Chicago with troupe this
Xmas, his first away from home. Jeanne'll write once weekly.
Good-night kiss is friendly, but nothing more. While they're no
great romance, they're No. I on each other's date list. If he
gets invitation to bring "a friend," he takes her and vice versa.
43
Is there a Pidgeon-fancier in
At one time, Walt would warble "The Rosary" at parties,
ruin the gay mood. Now he sings only in bath or while
preparing a garlic-olive oiled steak.
the house? Don't rush, girls!
(With Mrs. P.)
■ I've known Walter Pidgeon for year^-never mind how
many— and only once have I wanted to slug him.
That was when Frances Marion and I took him up to
the Hearst ranch. Our train got shunted off on a siding,
and we didn't arrive till 4:30 A.M. The scene was out
of the Arabian Nights— mist-drowned hills and valleys
and, floating high over the mists, this lighted castle
like a wedding-cake, with nothing to hold it up. ^
In my childish fashion, I started raving. "We've got
to wait and watch the sunrise melt the mists away—"
"Not me," said Frances. "I'm going to bed."
"Likewise," said Walter.
I didn't mind Frances so much, she'd seen it before.
Walter hadn't. "Where's your, soul, where's your sense
of poetry?" I stormed.
"Sleeping," says he, and darned if the big lug didnt
march off and leave me to rhapsodize alone.
That was in the old days, before he and Ruth were
married. When he first came out, he didn't know many
people. East was East and West was West, and my
house was a place where the twain frequently met. If
New Yorkers didn't know anyone {Continued on page 87)
Canadian-born Walt thanks Fred Astaire for first break,
thinks Sinatra is "one swell kid." A new citizen he cast
first vote this year. (With L. B. Mayer at SYWA preem.)
44
By Hedda Hopper
■ It's June in January. June Allyson, in case
you didn't get it first off. 'N she didn't
just breeze in with a snappy "Happy New
Year" and let it go at that. She's got ideas,
that gal!
What's it got to do with you? Come out
of the dumps, and you'll see. Sure, I know
what you're up against. Everything^ you
own looks strictly pain-in-the-neck. It's too
late for more Winter duds, too early for
Spring. But this doesn't mean you're to
stand there just marking time 'til the
robins come.
Now's the season, says June, to pin your-
46
Think what this beret and halter
could do far your outfit! Hand cro-
cheted accessories by Greta Plattry|
It's a peplum that adds zip to
a basic black, make-it-yourself
dress, Simplicity Pattern 1053.
all on the old faithful black dress. That
one in the closet — -remember? Or you can
whip up a new "old faithful" from a Sim-
plicity pattern. With curve-smoothing lines,
new bateau (boat-shaped) neckline, tiny cap
sleeves. Plus a matching jacket for presto-
chango into a dinner suit.
But hurry up, will you? Because the fire-
works are starting. Hand-crocheted acces-
sories. That hot-pink business that June's
got on her head is called a "coif" (cwaf,
mind you, not coyf) . The gloves pick up
the sparkle with a fake jewel placed, ring-
fashion, in the {Continued on page 90)
It's a smart, long sleeved
jacket that transforms your
dress into a costume suit.
a datemaker, dressed up
with a giant flower tucked into
a velvet band at your waist.
June Allyson, bright star of "Music
For Millions, " sparkles in gay, be-jeweled coif
and gloves by Greta Plattry.
47
Way before Pearl Harbor, John, along with Bolger, Laurel and Hardy,
Chico Marx and others, went USO touring in the Caribbean. The War
Dept. nixed publicity, didn't want it known men were stationed there.
on July 25th.
was only born
All of Johnny's scenes in "H'wood Canteen had to be tedone-
seems the real self shown is so unlike his reel self, he had to
portray Garfield, the actor, so people would recognize him!
■ David Garfield was a year old
"He can't be," said John. "He
the other day."
Roberta glanced at the clock. "A year ago. Al-
most to the minute. Remember? Winchell was
screaming about Mussolini, while I screamed about
David."
He remembered all right, but it just didnt seem
possible. This had been the swiftest year of a not
uneventful life. Garfield's the kind of guy things
happen to. Eager, sensitive, burningly interested in
the world and all its doings, he lives twice as in-
tensely as the average man. But the things that had
happened this year were stranger, more significant,
more exciting than usual —
First, his son had been born on a very fine
day. The day Mussolini was kicked out of Rome.
The news had just started coming in over the radio,
and Roberta couldn't bear to leave it, but the baby
wouldn't wait. He was very impatient. At the hos-
pital, John hadn't even hit his pacing stride before
the smiling nurse came out and said, "It's a boy."
48
l'/2-nour show for Tito's Partisans took twice that long — interpreter had
to get in his licks. John added their gift of Nazi gun to souvenir
arsenal given him bv G.l.'s. (With Handyman Luther and Cook Ida May.)
journey among warriors
They. let him see Roberta for a minute.
"What's his name?" she asked drowsily.
"David."
"That's nice."
In the Garfield family, it's Daddy who picks the
kids' names. Robbie hadn't known Katherine would
be Katherine till after she was born. Her theory is:
"The mother has the children. The father just stands
outside. So the least you can do is let him pick the
name. That makes him more part of it. Besides,"
she adds with an impish grin, "if you've got
enough faith in a guy to marry him, you ought to
trust him enough to let him name your child."
Before dozing off, she murmured, "Go cele-
brate—"
"What'll I do?"
"Go see a leg show."
So he collected some male cronies and took them
to Earl Carroll's and ordered champagne for the
girls and didn't say why till the glasses were lifted.
Then: "To my son," said John, and got much
drunker on the words than {Continued on page 91)
Phoning wife of a Lieut, he'd met in Italy, he learned she and
infant were homeless. In 2 days, he and Red Cross had them set up
in own apt.! Baby David Patton was named for famed General.
49
IN HER ELEGANT WORLD . . .
a i a rw r\c \rc
IN HIS WORLD OF ADVENTURE
A WOMAN OF FIRE!
Bored and beautiful weary
of the dull world she knew
she found happiness in the
arms of the bold brigand
who swept her away on the
wings of the wind for 24
reckless hours . . . From the
exciting novel by DAPHNE
( "Rebecca") DU MAURIER . . .
PARAMOUNT presents
Joan Tontaine
flfCuro k CorboM
BASIL RATHBONE • NIGEL BRUCE
* CECIL KELLAWAY • RALPH FORBES
B. G. DeSYLVA, Executive Producer
Screen PI by Talbot Jennings • from pie Novel by Daphne du Mauner
PRODUCTION
Directed by Mitchell Leisen
, . kM i. m ». M PMC «~. in . mm M would d.ligM any colo, I,™,,, „,„. -„ „„» „ „ „„„■ „,,,„„ „„„ „ <fa „ M gr>jn „ ^
Home-as He Hopes It Will Look
Ever think how dreary it would be to live in a monotone environ-
ment? That's just what our fighting men have been doing. Small
wonder they're eager to feast their khaki-weary eyes on bright
colors! The stimulating, heart- warming colors that Bates has
chosen for these matching bedspreads and draperies. Use them
to transform your home into a gayer, more charming spot before
the return of your husband or son. You'll find Bates' spreads inex-
pensive and practical, too . . . wrinkleproof and easy to launder. If
you can't get them at your favorite store the first time you try . . .
try again. We're supplying them as fast as wartime limitations permit.
BATES FABRICS INC. • SO WORTH STREET • NEW YORK CITY 13
BEDSPREADS WITH MATCHING DRAPERIES
55
1
pa**°
GOOD NEWS
YOUR GOOD NEWS GOSSIPER RIFFLES THE PAGES OF
SOME OLD COLUMNS TO TELL OF CHRISTMASES LONG PAST.
■ Merry Christmas— to each and every one of you! .
This is the day and the season to put behind us
aches and unhappiness of the past, if even only for a httle wfclp.
and to cling hard to the belief and hope of the beauuful thought,
"Peace on Earth— Good Will Toward Men."
Christmas days have a way of changing with the changes m
our hearts. This year, in Hollywood, it is the same as
little town in the country. There are hearts that are saddened by
separation from dear ones. There are movie homes where a son.
or a brother or a husband has been lost. But just as J^1""^"
there are smiles of courage on faces in Hollywood for the Yuletide
Christmas trees may not be so big or bright. Packages may not
have such gaudy wrappings. But there are fires in the hearih-
and good cheer for old and new friends-and wonderful, splendid
memories.
I love to go over my scrapbooks around Chnstmas tune.
The memories they revive are as warm as though I were living
through them again. Some of them bring a sentimental tear to my
eyes. Others make me smile. I think you might be amused to look
back with me over some Christmases I recorded that read like some-
thing out of Arabian Nights,
It was back in the days when Hollywood was gay, extravagant
and brilliant. Come along and share a chuckle with me over this
Christmas day column I wrote (very nonchalantly, too):
"Carole Lombard's gift from her new beau. Bob Riskin. was huge
diamond and ruby clips and a silver fox cape. (Just simple httle
remembrances.') . _
"Francis Lederer gave Mary Anita Loos a Persian lamb coat, a
bracelet and a jade pin with matching earrings.
"Pat O'Brien handed Eloise a gorgeous new emerald ring.
"Clark Gable treated himself to a Duesenberg car.
"Darryl Zanuck surprised Virginia with a new Packard car. and
just so she wouldn't feel slighted, a fifty-carat star sapphire.
"Claudette Colbert's favorite gift is the new baguette diamond
wedding ring put on her finger by her husband. Dr. Joel Pressman.
"Dick Powell sent Mary Brian a lovely sable jacket. _
"Joan Crawford's Christmas was made cheerful by Franchot Tones
aift_ a new star sapphire necklace and bracelet.
"George Raft took Virginia Peine'* little daughter to see Santa
Claus and hasn't been the same since. (Who? George-or Santa?)
"Nick Stuart is caroling to Alice Faye Cont'd on following page)
Sinatra designed and built intricate home-recording ma-
chine with built-in record player and radio with bud
speakers throughout house. With vocalist E.leen Barton.
Van Johnson and Kay Williams have it bad. He s giftd
her with lush compact. He's making radio debut as m.c. <H
Command Performance. Armed Forces Radio Service shov
When Harry's away on tour, Betty Grable gets blue and
disinterested on Fox lot. She hopes to go along next
time Above, with GOOD NEWSer Louella Parsons.
56
Despite suitor Pete Lawford's return to town, Lana Turner's continuing
withfurhan Bey. She's redecorating only part of her new Bel Air home;
waiting till war's end to do rest. Just 21, she cast first vote this fall.
Soon as John Payne (above with Jimmy Durante and Gloria DeHaven)
is settled in his- Brentwood home, has water and lights under control
he'll head for Carmel for rest. Claims he's dog'tired after Army life
Her studio's helpless if Anne Baxter decides to marry John Hodialc.
Her contract provided she wouldn't wed until age of 21, which she
eached last spring. Above, at Ice Follies with "Hi" and June Havoc.
Ronnie got to ba thro«te ^I^L— I I I ' 1
0f>d / ,
Italy
ov,
°orj.
ihe
Landry, <" ico MtfHi« A &
did-
war
57
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lame- . '
this Christmas Eve— and I understand he
dropped a pearl framed miniature in her
Christmas stocking. (I had forgotten Nick and
Alice were ever that way.)
"Zeppo Marx's gift to Mrs. Zeppo was a
check for $2500!"
Whoops! Wasn't it ail just TOO wonderful!
* * *
And then, there was this zany item:
"Ted Healy (who was the Errol Flynn of
his day) furnished the highlight of the Christ-
mas festivities of 1935 by being accused of
setting fire to his best girl's clothes. Said
Ted, 'I'm too old to play with matches!'
"He was generally kidded and took it all
good naturedly, adding, 'Besides, I don't want
to go to jail because I hear they have to
eat pork chops — and I don't like pork chops.' "
» * *
I greeted the Christmas that Santa Anita
race track opened in the following fashion:
"Christmas has always been a home day
in Hollywood with one exception— today—
when Santa Anita opens. Stars celebrated
with their children bright and early and then
took themselves out to the beautiful new track.
"I hear that Bing Crosby has gone into
the horse breeding business (and I just
heard it is a rumor.'). 'Tis said that he
owns twelve yearlings which are now going
through their schooling period. (Poor Bing
and his nags. This was the beginning of
all the Crosby horse gags that practically
made Bob Hope famous!) &
"Connie Bennett is another racing enthuSiast.
She has entered her horse 'Rattlebrain' and
53 is looking for another bangtail. Fred Astaire
Address
I City
I State Ring Size.
I
I
I
I
I
I
I
I
is likewise in the market for a racer."
* *. *
Turning to a 1936 book, I found:
"Jean Harlow is celebrating the 1936 New
Year by discarding her platinum locks in favor
of her own light brown tresses. This decision
was made simultaneously with the signing of
a new seven year contract with M-G-M."
Poor little Jean— she didn't live to complete
that long contract.
"Paulette Goddard is with the Chaplin
children at Palm Springs. How the boys adore
their step-mother! I believe Charlie and
Paulette are happier now than ever before.
"The New Year hasn't caused Katie Hep-
burn to turn over a new page. She's up to
her same old elusive tricks. Out of the blue
she disappeared— and when she cropped up
in Kansas City, a reporter dubbed her 'A
cross between Sarah Bernhardt and Huckle-
berry Finn!' " (still goes.)
* * *
The brand new babies and two and three
year old debutantes are the center of interest
this year in Hollywood.
Lana Turner's Christmas present to year-
and-a-half Cheryl Christine will be a com-
bination dollhouse-playhouse. It is being
built in the back yard and is big enough for
Cheryl to play in until she is a big girl.
"Of course she's too young now to really
appreciate it," Lana said, "But It will have
three tiny little rooms and we'll fumish it with
little miniature furnishings which will be pre-
sented to her on her birthdays and Christ-
mas. We already have a tiny little Coo-Coo
clock and a set of dishes with all kinds of
birds for decoration." If you ask me, Lana
is more excited than Cheryl.
A lonely but proud mother in Hollywood
this Christmas is Dick Jaeckel's mom.
This is the first Christmas Millicent, as her
friends call her, has been without her boy who
is now with the Merchant Marine. He's only
17 — which is awfully young to be at sea.
But it's what the kid wanted. He wanted
his training the hard way, and while she is
lonely, Millicent is as proud as punch of the
letters she receives telling of his experiences
and how wonderful it is to be completely
on his own doing a man's job in the world.
Although Dick didn't have to join up for
another year, he left a starring job at Fox that
would have earned him $2500 a week at the
end of his seven year contract.
I miss him, too. He used to spend many
of his Christmases at my house, and it seems
only yesterday that I was buying him what
he asked for — a toy gun.
• * *
When Elsa Maxwell left for New York, the
party situation in Hollywood slowed up con-
siderably. Elsa has the faculty for making
every event an occasion of big celebration, and
_ no one else seems to have the energy to get
together the stars for dress-up parties.
Lady Elsie Mendl, another party giver,
went to New York to spend Thanksgiving,
and her house, which is always the mecca
for visiting celebrities, was no longer a
popular gathering place.
Just before Elsie went to New York, I at-
tended a party at her house for a bride and
groom, Mr. and Mrs. George Guinle. His
papa is one of Brazil's richest men. Mary
Pickford made an excellent speech stressing
the importance of the Good Neighbor policy.
Signe Hasso was there, looking so smart.
She has come up suddenly in Hollywood
and is due to be one of our top ranking
stars. She had her little boy with her over
Thanksgiving, and they dined together with
one of Signe's admirers.
Joan Fontaine came in for a brief moment
after dinner. She was lovely in a filmy black
dress with touches of pink. Now that she's
back at work she is happy again.
I wish I could say the same for her sis-
ter, Olivia De Havilland, who seems sad and
depressed. Her romance with Major John
Huston is over and her career is still in a
tangle with her Warner lawsuit.
♦ * *
Betty Grable has a sentimental idea lor
Christmas for Victoria Elizabeth James, Queen
of the Harry James household. She has
planted a small cedar tree exactly the same
age as Miss James. This year it will be dec-
orated with tiny lights— and then as the
tree grows— and Miss Vicky gets bigger, it
will be decorated each year just for her.
* * , *
THINGS-I-CAN'T-GET-USED-TO :
Turhan Bey smoking a pipe when he
dances.
Greer Garson's new short hair cut for
"Valley of Decision."
Judy Garland in - the matronly hats she
wears.
Lupe Velez with any other beau but Arturo
de Cordova. (Continued on page 66)
Roma""' Fu„ 3nd
m-m
INTERNATIONAL PICTURES, INC. presents
RANDOLPH SCOTT
GYPSY ROSE LEE
DINAH SHORE
BOB BURNS
OF THE
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-»~ CHARLES WINNINGER
WILLIAM MARSHALL • GUINN 'BIG BOY" WILLIAMS
ROBERT ARMSTRONG ■ FLORENCE BATES
Written for (fie screen by JAMES EDWARD GRANT
Story by Houston Branch • Music and Lyrics by
JOHNNY BURKE and JIMMY VAN HEUSEN
Released by
RKO Radio Pictures, inc.
59
till the war's over. But for his accident,
he'd have been in the fight. He hates
being out of it. His dad sends mm the
home town papers with their casualty lists
- kids Van knew at school, killed and Truss-
ing in action. His mouth goes hard. Hes
no crazier than the next guy to be a dead
hero, but every instinct pulls him toward
the side of those kids.
g.i. civilian . . •
He knows it's no use. They won't let
him fight. So he takes his own way of keep-
ing faith with the millions who do. Lives
as simply as possible— works as hard as
he can so as to pay the maximum income
tax— won't haunt night clubs— spends his
leisure time with the Keenan Wynns, his*
adopted family. Once he spoke to Jean-
Pierre Aumont of the way he felt. I have
no right to a normal existence. Not till
everyone's home, living normally again—
"I know. I feel the same way—"
"But you have no reason. You fought
in France. You're going back in—"
"As much reason as you, Van, Jean-
Pierre replied gently. "Each of us does
what he can." , , ... ,
So Van lives quietly. Though its been
a year and a half since the accident, he still
needs plenty of rest. The only way he
can get it is by turning in early, because
he's been working without a letup— Two
Girls and a Sailor," two "Dr. Gillespies,
six months on "Thirty Seconds Over
Tokyo," "Thrill of a Romance," "Weekend
at the Waldorf." With a schedule like that,
you don't have much energy left for the
social business. Even at the studio, he
lunches alone. Hates the noise and con-
fusion of the commissary. Has a tray m
his dressing room, goes over his dialogue,
takes a few minutes' snooze. Not that
he's anti-social. He's husbanding his
strength, that's all. When the war's over,
he'll quit working so hard because there 11
be room in the world for fun again.
The only new thing in his life's a house.
And he didn't plan that, it kind of sneaked
up on him.
Hugh Marlowe phoned the Wynns one
Sunday when Van was there. Hugh was
leaving for a play in Chicago, and he had
this little Chevvy that Keenan thought of
taking over. So Van went up with them
to look at the Chewy—
You drive up a steep hill— think you re
never going to reach the top — then you hit
it just as the car is coughing its soul out—
and first thing you see is the ocean spread
out, and this Cape Cod cottage with a
green lawn and flowerbeds and a dog
chasing round — like a home in the East.
"Who's renting it?" Van asked.
"Friend of mine and his wife. They're
moving in tomorrow — "
"Wish I could have it—" he said, the way
you say things, and never give it another
thought.
Next morning Hugh called him at the
studio. "Still want the house, Van?"
"Oh. Why, what's the matter with it?'
"Nothing. Guy that was taking it got
called back East for a show. I asked the
owners to give you first crack at it. But
you'll have to make up your mind by
eleven tomorrow. Ninety million other
peole want it, too — "
Van spent the noon hour calling every-
one he knew. Should he take it or shouldn't
he? "Be nice, wouldn't it? I always wanted
a garden to fuss over — "
"What's the inside like?"
"How should I know?"
60 "Didn't you see it?"
NOBODY'S SWEETHEART
(Continued from page 31)
"Sure, but who pays attention? Like a
home, I guess. Chairs, tables, long cord
on the telephone—"
The consensus of opinion was that he a
better snap it up, so he did. Professional
movers came for his Capehart, kind friends
did the rest. Everyone took a carload-
books, records, clothes, photographs, un-
answered letters and a ton of old movie
magazines. He'd marked the magazines:
"COLLECTORS' ITEMS, NOT JUNK.
HANDLE WITH CARE." Some day Van
expects to read them all.
Essie was there to receive the stuff.
Essie's the jewel who's put up with him
for two years. He got her through an ad,
when he lived in Coldwater Canyon. She
was supposed to show up for an interview
at 10. Came 11, and no Essie. At 11:30
the phone rang. "Mr. Johnson? I'm down
at the Beverly Hills Fire Department—
"Who's on fire?" ;
"I am, Mr. Johnson. I been drivin up
and down that canyon for hours, and
there's no such house at the number you
gave me — "
Van looked wildly around. "There must
be. I'm in it—"
"Well, you better get out of it then and
stand where I can see you — "
"Okay, Essie. I'll be wearing red hair
and freckles and a checked cowboy shirt—''
That was all the interview they needed.
Minor items like salary and duties were
taken in stride.
It took a while for the new house to
register. That first night he drove clear
to the old apartment, and started up the
stairs before he remembered that Vannie
didn't live there any more. He felt funny.
His hand fondled the banister— good old
apartment— they'd been through a lot to-
gether—what did he want to be rattling
around in a house for?
Reluctantly, he got back into the car.
By now it was dark. Might as well have
dinner in Westwood. He saw the Red Cross
Blood Bank, with its banner waving. Be-
fore the accident, Van had donated blood
regularly. That had helped save his. life,
the doctor said. If his body hadn't grown
used to losing blood in a small way, it might
not have survived the greater loss. Since
I SAW IT HAPPEN
It was at the Ambassador East Hotel
in Chicago. The Hollywood Victory
Caravan was there, and as a terrific
movie fan and autograph collector, I
was right on hand.
With me I had some friends, a beau-
tiful picture of Betty Hutton which I
wanted her to sign, two autograph
books and various other articles. All
of a sudden, out popped Betty from an
elevator and bang! Down went the
books, down went the picture — and
down went me. But in a minute I
was up and at her heels, "May J have
your autograph, Miss Hutton?"
"'I'm sorry, honey," she answered,
"but we're not allowed to sign unless
you buy a Bond?"
"Well, then, can I have your lip
print in my book?"
"That's the same thing, but I can
put it on YOU." i
And over she came, arouna me went
her arms and Bang! Down went the
books, down went the picture, but UP
stayed me!
Bob Hertzberg,
Chicago, Illinois
the accident, he hadn't been allowed to
give blood. "Not for a year," the doctor
had said, on discharging him.
home is where the heart is . .
Van made some rapid calculations. Golly,
it was a year. Just about. He went in
and gave them a pint of blood. When he
came out, he didn't feel nearly so lost.
And when he got to the house, somebody d
done something for him. The two lovely
ladies who owned it had turned all the
fights on. To welcome him home.
He walked all over the place, getting
acquainted— picked the bedroom with the
most wind blowing through, located his
Capehart, built a roaring fire, found the
phone with the long cord, flopped into a
chair and called all his friends. Hello,
he said, "I've got a house—" Later, Evie
and Keenan appeared, and they opened a
bottle of champagne for good luck.
It's only on Sundays that he really gets
chummy with the place. And even then
it's the garden more than the house. He
wakes up around nine, and remembers he
can stay in bed. That's all he asks— the
simple pleasure of knowing he doesn
have to get up. So he gets up and into a
pair of shorts. If you want to know why
he really bought the house, it's so he could
put on shorts and no top and trail his big
bare feet through the grass.
He starts the coffee and ambles to the
bottom of the hill for the morning papers-
drinks his coffee on the front steps, with
news flashes from the portable radio and
the fog rolling away to show him the view
Essie's given up trying to make him eat
a decent breakfast. He'd starve before
he'd fix anything for himself. She used to
buy bread. She'd stick two slices m the
toaster. "All you have to do is push that
jigger down in the morning-
"Who, me?"
Sometimes he'll do her a favor, and eat
one of the cookies she leaves in the cookie
jar. But mostly it's just black coffee. If
he's empty, he takes a second. That's the
Swede in him. He's never really hungry
till night time. That's a throwback to the
New York days when he couldn't afford
more than one solid meal a day.
His gardener's a thoroughly understand
ing fellow. Leaves the grass a little long
on Sundays. Van gets the old lawn mower
out, mows forth and then back— turns over
the flowerbeds and waters the driveway
wipes the honest sweat from his brow
sweeps up the walks and steps, cleans off
the wheelbarrow and outside furniture
looks at the view and has another cup
coffee. Then he washes the car. By now he
beginning to feel pretty pleased with him
self, and decides that the good boy de
serves a rest. So he drags out this dea
old mattress, flops and goes over Monday
script. That takes an hour or so. Then
his stomach speaks up. Funny thing-
stomach knows it's Sunday— never gets
hungry till night time except on Sunday.
"Go wash yourself," says his stomach, and
let's get out of here — "
First a tub, then a shower. He bathes
like a porpoise. Slops soap on the walls
and water all over the floor. Doesn't leave
the soap in the water any more though.
Not since the war started. And he cleans
up afterwards. That's his early training.
Dad's three thousand miles away, but Van
can still hear him, "Clean it up, son.
He hates to shave. Never shaves on
Sundays. To any objections, he's got the
perfect alibi. "I'm on a picture." If peo-
(Continued on page 64)
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(Continued from page 60)
pie assume that the picture calls for a
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Same old bags he's owned for two years.
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outside's out of bounds . . .
Maybe he'll drop in at Steve Brody's for
lunch and a swim. Steve's got a fabulous
colored guy— dishes up a buffet like Solo-
mon in all his glory— fried chicken, salads,
deviled eggs, hot biscuits, lemon meringue
pie. Eventually, of course, hell come to
roost at the Wynns. If it's late, little
Neddy fixes him with a baleful eye—
"Thought you were going to take me to
the outside things—"
In the center of town there s a little
amusement park with a creaky carousel
and a couple of brokendown rides, lo
Neddy, they spell glamour. He calls them
the outside things.
"No gas," Van explains.
"How did you get here? Walk/
"Here's close by. The outside things
are far away—" ,T ., , .
"And long ago," quips Neddy. Okay,
tell me a story." „ f
Which settles that. In whats left ot
the afternoon, Van helps Keenan dig round
the garden. Or they polish up the motor-
cycles that M-G-M won't let them ride.
After supper, it's gin rummy or records
or just chewing the breeze. Van leaves
early, takes his script to bed with hun,
eats an apple, smokes a cigarette, catches
the late news flashes and turns out the
light. He's asleep by 11.
Weekdays he's at the studio. Dines at
Lucey's or Chasen's or the Tropics The
other night he had dinner with June Havoc,
an old friend just back in town. Dinner s
no good unless it's topped off with lemon
meringue pie. .
If it's early, he'll take in a movie. Loves
to get into a studio projection room and
run old pictures— sits entranced through
a number like "The Women." Feels like
a novice sitting at the feet of masters.
And so home and to bed.
Doesn't sound very exciting, but it suits
Van. It's all he wants, till the Nazis and
Japs are finished. After that—
Well, he'd like a new car and four good
tires and a tankful of gas, so he can roll
cross-country to see his dad. Dads really
the one who stays put. The farthest he 11
stir from Newport is up to Providence for
a baseball game. The mere mention of
Hollywood scares him stiff. When Van lay
smashed up, half-conscious in the hospital,
voices came through— "Don't you think
we'd better send for his father?
He managed to move his head. Someone
bent down. "Don't— send— for Dad. He d
be frightened— lost. I'd— worry— "
Even now Van worries about him. He s
always lived so much to himself. Now
people have found out he's the father ot a
movie star. Kids fall all over him. Some-
how he doesn't seem to mind the kids-
answers their questions, drags out scrap-
books and the old family album. In fact,
Van sometimes wonders what the devil he s
worried about— looks as if Dad might be
enjoying the whole business. Because
when he sent home a set of his first color
photos, Dad wrote that they were being
displayed in the local A&P and the bank.
"How did they know you had em? Van
inquired. No answer to that one. And then
—he takes most of his meals at the same
little restaurant. On Van's last birthday,
came a card signed by five names— From
the girls who feed your father."
Father and son have drawn closer smce
Van's been away. Rather, they've grown
less shy— at a distance — of showing their
love for each other. Once a month Van
phones his father — „j
Dad says, "I saw your new picture— J
"Has it hit town already?"
"I went up to Providence for it—
"Golly, I rate! Same as a baseball
game — "
He wants every detail of the new house-
how many rooms? How close to the neigh-
bors' Always asks when Van's coming
home. "Your room's just the same— movie
stars all over the walls and ceiling.
Dad always calls a halt to the conversa-
tion. "You've talked long enough—"
"Worried about the bill?"
"Someone's got to worry—"
Van's convinced he lives on an eighth
of his monthly check. Probably sticks the
rest in the bank for the boy. Figures the
boy's doing all right at the moment, but
how can you tell about this movie busi-
ness? So Van gets back at him by send-
ing stuff— oranges from the Farmers
Market, Martha Smith candies, sweaters,
material for suits—
"Did you have that suit made up/
"Yes, but I'm saving it till you come
home." , . j
That's the first thing he wants to do
after the war.
He'd also like to get married, and have
a lot of kids— a happy mixture of boys
and girls— the more, the merrier. Thinks
he'd make a good father, except he migh
have a tendency to spoil 'em— especially
the girls. His favorite picture is of Mr
and Mrs. Van Johnson plus kids plus dogi
in a homey house with a green, green lawn
When he's married, he won't go anywhere
they'll have everyone at their place.
By himself, he's no good at entertaining
Takes the responsibility too hard. When
Keenan Wynn got back from overseas, Van
gave him a welcome home party. All he
remembers is leaping around, shoving
plates and glasses at people, under the
illusion that an empty hand reflected on his
hospitality and disgraced his name as a
host. Marriage'll simplify the whole thing.
"All right, honey," he'll say. IU be
charming, and I'll pay ( the bills. The rest
is on your shoulders — "
Honey's still an unknown quantity. Van
hopes she'll show up— with other good
things— when the war's over.
C'MON, SHELL OUT. RAKE IN! j
We're running a swap shop here —
one story gets you five bucks. Some
odds, eh?
What kind of a story, you ask.'
Well, it doesn't really matter, as long
as it deals with your encounter with
a Hollywood personality and is a
STORY— y'know, one of those things
with a beginning, a middle and an
end? It can be funny ha-ha or funny
peculiar, it can be glad or sad, it can
be long or short— in other words, it
can be 'most anything as long as it 11
interest the rest of the M.S. gang and
deals with a movie star. So cmon
shell it out to: I SAW IT HAPPEN
Editor, Modern Screen, 149 Madison
Avenue, New York 16, N. Y., and rake
in your five dollars.
COURAGE, SISTER . . .
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So courage, ma'am, things'll be a
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TAPE
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© 1944 M. M. & M. CO.
GOOD NEWS
(Continued jrom -page 58)
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City
The beaux who crash Lana Turner's table
and ask her for dances when she is out
with another guy— and she accepts.
The violent pink color of Lucille Ball's hair.
The moody, unhappy expression on Hel-
mut Dantine's face even at the most gala
social events.
The fact that Wally Beery is one of the
best dressed and groomed men in Holly-
wood— off the screen.
Gloria de Haven eating three husky meals
a day and still never putting on a pound.
Paulette Goddard's "little girl" voice com-
bined with her truly sophisticated personality.
* * *
Desi Arnaz (Lucille Ball's ex) has been
seeing cute little Marianne O'Brien, but the
torch he still carries for Lucille lights up
every little table where Desi dines even when
he is with another charmer.
* * *
A song was written for Betty Hutton titled,
"I'm the Bobby Sox Sinatra Doesn't Send—"
and she wouldn't sing it. Betty says she likes
Sinatra, and he sends her.
* * *
I'm in the dog house with Bette Davis.
I'm afraid 1 was responsible for the
Atlanta newspapers finding Bette living in a
small house down there with her sister and
her maid. I had printed that she was meet-
ing Corporal Louis Riley, her new heart,
somewhere in the East, and since the Corp
was stationed close by Atlanta— well, Bette's
incognito visit was no longer a secret.
The one and only Davis is plenty annoyed
at me for interrupting her peaceful vacation,
and hot wires were sent to Warners' Studio
asking how— and where— I got the tip.
But poor Joe Cotten really got the bad
end of the deal. He was in Atlanta appear-
ing with "Since You Went Away" and would
have grabbed off plenty of space if the ex-
citement of finding Bette on hand hadn't over-
shadowed his visit.
* •* *
Dennis Morgan was attending an art exhibit
and was very much taken with one of the
lovely pictures.
"Yes, yes, Mr. Morgan— it is a delightful
subject" enthused the dealer, "and a bargain,
Mr. Morgan. Only $5,000."
"Listen." grinned Dennis, "My name is
Dennis Morgan. Not J.P."
* * *
Van Johnson and Kay Williams are the
cutest couple in town— and the blondest.
Van's hair is almost as light as Kay's, and
they look wonderful dancing cheek-to-cheek.
Their favorite number at their favorite spot
Ciro's is— oddly enough, "I'll Walk Alone."
No, I don't think it is because Kay is carrying
a torch for Clark Gable, either— or Van for
June Allyson.
The Gable-Williams romance is finis — to be
sure. But they were never more than good
playfellows, and it became embarrassing
when it was. insisted that they would marry.
I think Clark felt the only way to solve
the tangle was to make a clean break.
I
to
.State.
Is Robert Walker's face red!
The other day he went over to Jennifer
Jones' house to see his two kids, Bobby an
Michael.
"Daddy," said Michael, "are you an actor?
"Yes," said Bob.
"Are you a good actor?" persisted the boy,
•"Why — er — " Bob stalled.
"I guess you aren't very good," sai
Michael, "or you would have one of these
things"— and with that he brought out the
Oscar Jennifer won for "The Song of
Bernadette."
The argument was permanently closed
* * *
Betty Grable is calling the hair-do s
created for herself in "Diamond Horseshoe"
by the unflattering title of "Flat-top."
Another fashion tip from Grable: She's
wearing her nails very long but completely
minus polish.
* * *
Who said that all actors hate their agents?
Dick Haymes, the swoon-maker, and Helen
Forrest have the same agent. Bill Burton, to
whom they are deeply devoted.
Recently they took out a joint life insur
ance policy for $100,000 which Bill will collect
if either of them should die.
* * *
Oh, what an actress is Tallulah Bankhead! j
Had the time of my life spending a couple of j
hours on her set, "Night For Scandal," for- |
merly "The Czarino."
She looked like a million wearing a regal
upswept hair-do and a voluminous greefll
velvet gown that weighed twenty-five pounds. J
"Louella!" she called in her rich, throaty j
voice when she caught sight of me, "Wai«i
a minute, darling. I want to show you some- 1
thing funny." She came over with a small
photograph in her hand. "Don't tell Veronica !
Lake — but look.'"
It was a photograph of Tallulah taken j
when she was eighteen wearing a peekabooj
bang with one eye completely hidden!
"Now tell me who started that damned |
thing!" she laughed.
* * *
Vignette on Gloria De Haven: She hates j
carrots . . . men who hum when they are j
dancing . . . girls who call each other
"honey" ... big hats . . . fried apples
. getting up early in the morning • • • j
escorts who argue with waiters . . . char- 1
treuse . . . affected accents . . . New York)
charmers who turn up their noses at Holly- j
wood beaux ... She loves cinnamon . . |J
Crosby records . . . Perky little hats withlj
veils , . . red sports clothes . . . men withl
low pitched voices . . . peach ice cream jj
cones . . blue night gowns . . . rubies . . -J
violets . . . Sunday mornings . . . cheese . . .
men who use nicely scented shaving lotion
* * *
That's all for this month. See you next!
month. But I don't want to close without
thanking all of you who have written me
such interesting letters. Please keep on writ
ing, for I get valuable tips from you about
your favorites and what you want to read
Please wait, Mr. Jennings, I'm crying again!"
T
JL thought I had all that out
of my system, but I guess these darn gray vel-
vet drapes Mr. Jennings uses set me off again.
You're with me everywhere I go, Joe, dar-
ling...we scattered so many memories around
in our few short weeks together. You climb
the old mill stairs with me when we picnic on
Strawberry Hill. You tease poor Miss Burrows
at the post office so unmercifully about read-
ing the mail she blushes at the very sight of
you. You share my sodas at the corner drug
store, my laughter at the movies, my dreams at
night. And here where we had our wedding pic-
ture taken, I can almost feel your hand in mine.
Oh, Joe, Joe — you've loved me, cared forme,
spoiled me outrageously. Certainly I said (when
you asked me) that I'd never had a fur coat, but
I've never had the sun, moon and stars either!
And when your sister brought IT over on Christ-
mas Day with your dear letter ... all I could
think was a lifetime isn't long enough ... to be
with someone like you!
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(Continued from page 18)
or other it always winds up a free-for-all
with everybody's feelings hurt. How to
avoid it? Well, either stay off dangerous
subjects like Roosevelt or Sinatra, or add
to your vocabulary such shock-absorbing
phrases as, "I think you have a swell point
there, but—" or "That's very true, but—.
Don't be bull-headed about the person in
question. Admit his faults, thus taking halt
the wind out of your dissenting friends
sails, but say you'll string along anyway.
"Then How About a Month From Next
Tuesday?" How to dispose of the persistent
swain, the one who will not take no for
an answer. You've tried pleading other
dates, sick headaches and visiting cousins,
and he still doesn't get the picture. The
boy will just have to be told very gently
but firmly that you're a girl who likes mobs
of men, and that you can't possibly give
him a date more often than every two or
three months. Say you don't blame hrm
if that makes him mad, but it's just the
way it is and you're sorry. Say further
that you don't make the dates weeks in
advance, it's just first come first served.
S'posing a boy you're out of your head
about asks you for a date on a night you re
already spoken for, how to say "no, with-
out terminating the whole thing? By your
expression let him see you're heartsick
that you can't make it, and say something
like, "Darn it, not this Saturday, Bill, but
I'll be hanging on the phone till you ask
me again." Bold? Well, frankly, yes, but
faint heart never won slick guy, y'know.
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DAVID KAHH Int., North Bergon, N.i,
IMPROVE MECHANICAL PENCILS
I am quite nice-looking, have attractive
clothes, am popular with the girls— but
draw a complete blank swain-wise. Why
do you suppose the guys don't like me, and
is there any hope for me at all? M. R.,
Denver, Colorado.
With slightly different wording, and
various postmarks, this problem has shown
up at least a hundred times in this months
mail. And isn't it a stinker? We asked the
boys what it is that perfectly darling,
smoothly dressed gals lack so heartbreak-
ingly often? It's a subtle combination, they
told us, of warmth and casualness. An easy
friendliness. A grin or a wink or a whis-
pered "hi" when you eke into class five
minutes late. Warmth and casualness. As
small a business as that. How do you
get it when you're just plain frantic at
the sight of a boy? This way, kids. It
sounds impossible, but try it for a week
and see for yourself. Imagine that you
are a very popular girl. Imagine it so
hard that you get a feeling of security
and self-confidence right down to your
very soul. Clutching that feeling tight,
whip off to school or work and act ac-
cordingly. The feeling of terror, of des-
peration will be gone, and you'll find your-
self able to grin at familiar male faces on
the bus, actually able to say "Hi, Joe," in
a perfectly natural voice. Don't you see,
it's only the fear that boys can't stand you
that makes you act so differently with them
than you do in the warm friendly circle of
gals or family. Once you overcome that
nonsensical, but ever-so-real terror, we
promise you that within a month you 11 be
date-bait.
Johnny and I are very much in love, but
recently another girl has come into the
picture. She's new at his school, and Im
at a bit of a disadvantage for I go to
another school. What can I do to keep him
from liking her more and me less? A. R.,
Birmingham, Alabama.
You don't give us too much evidence,
but we imagine that he's been dating this
gal and that is why you're alarmed. Well,
don't get Maggie-and-Jiggsish and start
heckling him about her. Ask him no ques-
tions, and— if it kills you— show no signs
of jealousy. Above all, do not belittle her in
any way within his earshot. A new girl
is always kind of fascinating to the boys,
and your boy will come out of it without a
scratch. Only if the thing goes on and on
should you make an issue of it, and at that
time do be serene and unfeline. Offer him
his freedom. We feel sure he won't take it,
but if he does, you'll at least have your
pride. And say, if he does choose her,
you're well rid of the old fickle-puss.
1 am a teen-age girl who is simply
crazy about Frank Sinatra. I live with my
grandmother who seems to think Frankie
is awful. I lose my temper a dozen times
a day with her and am anxious to know
how I can make her feel differently about
him. Kathryn M., Menasha, Wisconsin. ; I
If it's his voice your grandmother can't
bear, we're afraid nothing you can say will
change her mind. It's just one of those
things, like olives or bridge. You like it
or you don't. However, if it's Frankie as
a person she doesn't like, we guess she
doesn't know him very well. Get her to
read our life story that ran in the Septem-
ber and October issues, and bet you'll
have a new fan on your hands.
My sister was a regular devil and con-
sequently got into all sorts of trouble when
she got out of school. Now my parents have
the idea that I have to be protected from
the evils of the world. I'm 17 years old
and have never been allowed on a date
in my life. They won't even let me go with
the boys I've grown up with. My mother
insists that she trusts me, and certainly
she has had no reason to doubt me, so
why must I suffer because of my sister';
mistakes? Gwynne, North Dakota.
We certainly see your point, chum, an
we can see your parents', too, although we
think their tactics are off the beam. They
probably feel that your sister got into
trouble because she wasn't watched care-
fully enough. This business of policing you
is sort of overcompensation. We think the
only solution is a really deep discussion of
the situation with your mother. Ask her
if she thinks it would be fair for the state
to punish an entire family for the wrong-
doings of one of its members, and let her
see that that's the very theory she's going
on. If you are self-supporting or expect to
be soon, you can make her realize that
whether or not you live at home is really
a matter of choice, and if things continue
the way they are that you will have no
alternative but to move elsewhere so that
you can conduct your life normally and
happily. Try not to get excited during the
talk, but be at your most clear-headed
and logical. Agree to compromise at first
on home dates or double dates, until you've
established your "credit," so to speak; then
proceed gradually and belatedly to the
average dating schedule of a 17-year-old.
We're the original problem-gal, you
know, so if you've trouble with a guy, a
career, a baby, write and tell us about it.
We'll answer by mail if you like, but be
sure to put your name and address on the
actual letter, not just on the envelope.
They have a way of getting separated. Stop
getting gray hair over your own fiendish
dilemma, and write us about it this very
second. Here's who and where we are:
Jean Kinkead, MODERN SCREEN, 149
Madison Avenue, New York 16, N.
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who hadn't lived in a house since his baby
days. Raised in this modern factory town,
Hollywood, utterly unknown, with no more
pull than a busted-down jeep, no money,
no name and often not enough food.
But still a kid who never dimmed his
natural sunshine, never let disillusioned
cynics of the studio extra ranks touch his
high hopes or blight his faith. A kid who
still doesn't drink or smoke or swear or
chase around.
That is the modern movietown miracle
of Lon McCallister, more miraculous be-
cause what has made him an idol of mil-
lions is the fresh, honest, unspoiled, Ameri-
can youth nature of his personality. The
rare charm which made a great author like
James Hilton call him "the most charming
boy discovered in Hollywood in many
seasons," and which made the great Katha-
rine Cornell write after "Stage Door
Canteen," "when I saw our picture I
though of sending you a telegram ... I
was so touched and impressed by your
performance. Time and time again you
made me cry ... I felt very lucky my
scene was with you, for you were the
one who gave it reality."
Spring came late to Southern California
in 1923. Rain washed the streets, and the
morning ocean mists were still cold when
Madaline McCallister entered the Angelus
Hospital to have her first and what was
to be her only child. On the evening of
the seventeenth when her baby was born,
it should have been daylight, but electric
lights still blazed in the maternity ward
rooms. A white clad nurse glanced briefly
at the chart marked, "Mrs. H. A. Mc-
Callister" and waited for her patient to
wake up. When her eyes fluttered open at
last, the nurse smiled cheerily.
"A fine baby boy," she said.
"How is he?" „
"Don't you worry about that boy,
chuckled the nurse. "He'll do all right.
I've never seen a baby get started so quick.
Why, he's already opened his eyes— they re
blue— opened them up bright and wide,
just a minute ago. Stared right up into
the electric lights and kicked his coverlet
off! And, Mrs. McCallister, you know
what? The little rascal looked at me, and
I'll swear he laughed!"
Madaline McCallister smiled. "Thats
just your imagination."
"No— that's exactly what he did. ; By the
way, you aren't the only one who's had a
baby. Mrs. Hoot Gibson is right down the
hall."
"The movie star's wife?
velvety future . . .
The nurse nodded. "Now we'll fix you up
nice and comfortable, and then we'll let
you see your new boss."
Madaline McCallister settled back on her
pillow and smiled. A baby boy, healthy,
the nurse said, and happy. Already she
made plans. He'd be Herbert Alonzo Mc-
Callister, Junior, named after his father,
only they'd probably call him "H. A.'
around the house as most Midwestern
families did when there were Juniors and
Seniors with the same first name. He'd
grow up to be something important, a doc-
tor or a minister, maybe. He'd have the
best of every care, the finest schooling, the
biggest chance a baby ever had, that was
certain. Madaline McCallister said a little
prayer thanking Heaven she had plenty of
means to raise little H. A. with every ad-
vantage. It never remotely occurred to
her that the wealth which now made her
feel so warmly secure could ever vanish.
Because the Scotch-Irish McCallisters
and the English descended Hockings, her
side of the family, were people of property
—always had been. Around Carmi, Illi-
nois, R. B. Hocking, Lon's grandfather,
had his finger in a lot of profitable business
pies, jewelry stores, theaters, farm lands
and city property. When Lon's parents
married and moved down to Little Rock,
Arkansas, they sold out their Illinois
holdings and acquired new ones there.
Always they prospered, it seemed, and
after 1918 when Lon's dad came back
from Army duty in the first World War
and decided to settle in California, it was
no Arkie-Okie migration. The McCallis-
ters settled in style.
boom town . . .
They chose the town of Inglewood, Lon's
mother and father and her parents, Grand-
father and Grandmother Hocking. They
owned the biggest house in town, so roomy
that today it has been made over into a
sanatorium. Herbert Alonzo McCallister,
Sr., and his father-in-law went into part-
nership in the real estate business, ran
smack into a California boom, and in ■
hardly any time owned half the town and
had a mortgage on the other half. On«|
paper Lon's father and grandfather soon .
were millionaires. No wonder Madaline
McCallister felt content and secure about I
her new son's future.
It seemed to Lon in his toddling days
that his papa must own everything nice
there was in the world. There was the
bowling alley in the Hocking Building,
named after his grandfather, of course, j
When Lon was barely able to walk, his
grandfather would let him tumble the tiny
duckpins with his hands or help him push
a bowling ball into the "blocks," as he
called the pins, and send them toppling.
And there was the even greater wonder,
the fantastic child's dream come true, of
his father's candy factory down in indus-
trial Los Angeles. There his father would
take him among the rich, tantalizing smells
of chocolate, taffy and butterscotch and a
million kinds of creams and nougats. He d
hold him up, screaming with delight, and
let him dip his tiny fingers into the vat of
cooling chocolate and smear his face hap-
pily with the nectar and ambrosias of
moppethood. , . _ . ,
Particularly Lon liked the big Packard
roadster with the rumble seat and its won-
derful smell of leather upholstery. The
McCallisters and the Hockings liked to
travel. They had the highway adventure
spirit of a generation that had discovered
wheels and distant horizons. Lon was
bundled in blankets and put with Grand-
mother Hocking in the rumble seat where
he insisted on riding. He liked to sit back
there and have his grandmother smg old-
time songs. Then he'd try them himself.
None of his family wanted to have him
out of sight a minute. He went tagging
along, as soon as his stubby legs could
carry him, with his mother and grand-
mother when they shopped in Los Angeles.
Their greatest dread on these excursions
was that somehow, despite extreme vig-
ilance, Lon would get lost. For this reason
as soon as Lon could talk, he was trained
to spout his name, address and telephone
number right back at anyone who even
said "Hello" to him. Kindly ladies, at-
tracted by his rosy cheeks and bright blue
eyes, would stop to pat his yellow curls
and coo, "Hello there, little man." To their
surprise Lon would recite rapidly, Her-
bert Alonzo McCallister, corner of Hill-
crest and Locust, Inglewood 5433!"
He was a friendly little guy from the
start. He seldom cried. He never got
mad. On the block of the big Ingle-
wood house he played serenely with his
first chum, Billy, the kid who owned a
tricycle and coveted Lon's wagon, while
Lon envied his tricycle. They got together
right away, hitched the trike onto the
wagon, and everybody had fun. Lon learned
right away the benefits of friendship,
something that has since become almost a
religion with him. Lon had a mess of
distant cousins in California, too. Some of
them he was crazy about. One or two
were the kind of kids who make trouble.
kiddie crises . . .
But in all his kiddie crises, Lon was
open, aboveboard and naively honest as
he is today. Once a troublous cousin and
Lon were playing around Grandmother
Hocking's fishpool. The cousin stepped on
a slippery spot, and down he went with a
splash. He set up a loud wail and out
ran the family, terrified.
"He pushed me," cried the cousin. "H.A.
pushed me when I wasn't lookin'. He's
mean to me. Wah-wah-wah!"
That astounded Lon. He had never been
unjustly accused before. All he could
think of was to tell the truth. "I didn't
push him," he said, and then frankly, "but
I didn't pull him out either."
Lon's first real chance to stray away
from the shady side of the house and the
apron strings of his adoring family came
when the family moved from Inglewood to
Los Angeles, selling the big mansion and
building two white stucco, California-
Spanish homes on Crenshaw Boulevard,
down the hill from Hollywood. One for
Lon's parents, one for his grandparents.
For Lon, only five years old, it meant an
exciting plunge into a new world, one
where he would be getting around, meet-
ing new kids. The prospect thrilled him,
even then. He has always been wide-eyed
about life. His mother bought him a new
suit to celebrate the move into the big
city. It had exciting, glamorous long
pants and a real miniature man's fedora
hat, and he carried a tiny cane. Now Lon
thinks he must have looked like a midget
in a circus, but then he thought it was hot
stuff. Lon's mother was proud of his
handsome looks. Perhaps it was pure and
simple pride that her boy was the cutest
ever born which made her enter him in an
annual baby show, sponsored by the Los
Angeles Daily Express at Long Beach.
Certainly then she could have no designs
on movies or the theater. She was far too
careful with little Lon to expose him to
any kind of a kiddie show business, and
certainly money was no bait; they already
had plenty.
Just the same, Herbert Alonzo McCallis-
ter was announced in the kiddie parade,
and he walked, stiff and proud, down the
promenade on the pike at Long Beach,
resplendent in a blue drummer boy's suit
his mother had patiently sewed, and tap-
ping a toy drum. In his first professional
appearance, Lon McCallister's eyes shone
with delight, and the judges took notice.
He didn't win — there were too many doll
baby taffy curled cuties. But he took a
prize. Five dollars. He clutched it proudly
in his fist all the way back home, and his
mother put it in his bank. He would like
to have that bill today as a souvenir, but
Lon's bank and its contents were put to
practical uses before very long.
Now in the new neighborhood a new
event confronted him — school. It would be
private school, of course. Nothing was too
good for the little H.A. then. A suitable
school for children was found, near thev
Crenshaw Boulevard homes. Miss Lind-
bergh's Children's school. Lon was almost
six then. It was his first venture away
(Continued on page 74)
MARIA MONTEZ, STARRING IN
"QUEEN OF THE NILE"
A UNIVERSAL PICTURE
IN TECHNICOLOR
You.- // I could only have such alluring-soft hands!
maria montez: And why not— if you'll use Jergens Lotion.
you: Really, now— do you use Jergens, Miss Montez?
maria montez: Of course! I always use Jergens.
Hollywood Stars use Jergens Lotion, 7 to 1.
Here's why: For sure protection against rough hands
Jergens Lotion furnishes softness-guarding
moisture for your skin. Persuades even harsh hands
to dream-girl smoothness with 2 ingredients
many doctors use for skin care. Divine
to use! No stickiness. So—
FOR THE SOFTEST, "
ADORABLE HANDS USE
JERGENS LOTION
Nellie Reagan fixes up Corned Beef Hash
"just the way Ronnie likes it ... cla.n
sons have "average"
I I n cj —
American tastes in food.
For the Lucky Seventh in our Regional
Series, Ronald Reagan's mother joins Jane in proving
that folks eat well in THE MIDDLE WEST
What's Cookin', America?
S£ „"°mS-av3K .TufwhoCr. we to question anyone as
adorable »s 5U Eeagans' cute and cuddlesome four year old!
When home on furlough, there s no sweeter
sound to Ronnie, overs Jone, than the dinner
bell . . especially when little Maureen rings it!
Winner of varsity letters in college
athlete's lining for hearty food .
egg-topped hash served with corn and cole slaw.
Ronnie has
. such as
By Nancy Wood
Actually, most of our information and
Middle West-style recipes came from Mrs.
Reagan, Senior, who still lives in the little
house she shared with Ronnie's father who
died some while back. Ronnie and his
brother Neil often drop in on her there.
Ronnie invariably comes over and lets
Mom cook for him when La Wyman is on
a bond tour or in New York for personal
appearances — as she was recently, in con-
nection with the showing of "Doughgirls."
(Which picture, incidentally, has nothing
to do with bread making. You have our
word for it, in case you haven't already
seen it!) You'll be seeing Jane soon again,
by the way, in Warners' big new musical
"Hollywood Canteen." And won't that be
a show — with sixty big name players in it!
But to return to Mrs. Reagan. A plea-
sure, we assure you, for Maureen's "Nana"
is a warm, friendly person; besides being
a darned good cook!
Obviously her sons get their liking for
typical American dishes from enjoying the
fine meals she has always loved to prepare
for them. "Ronnie," proclaims his proud
parent, "has always preferred simple stuff,
simply cooked. Has fruit, cereal and coffee
for breakfast, little more than a sandwich
for lunch, but demands a big dinner."
It seems he loves steaks, mock chicken
legs (a family favorite of which more
later) and corned beef hash. (There's
corned beef hash and corned beef hash, as
any man could tell you — and as any man
will, for they set themselves up as con-
noisseurs on the subject. Bet they can't
find a better version than Mrs. Reagan's.)
Then, too, Ronnie — like many another
Middle Westerner — takes great interest in
the soil, gives part of every furlough to
his Victory Garden and thinks there's
nothing finer than his own home-grown
vegetables. Especially favors sour cream
slaw and corn on the cob.
To this list Jane added corn off the cob,
in the form of corn fritters. (Being from
Missouri, Jane says you'll "have to show
her" that fritters come any finer than these!)
Then, of course, there are desserts. Spe-
cifically there's Cocoa Cake, a big favorite
with both the Reagan boys — especially
when eaten as a late-at-night snack, ac-
companied by a big glass of milk. Fact is,
Ronnie and Neil always were and still are
inveterate refrigerator raiders. Used to
rout Mom out of bed when they'd get in
late and have her join them in the kitchen
where they'd eat their own version of a
Dagwood sandwich, followed by generous
slices of Mom's famous cake.
And now how about recipes for all
these Corn Belt favorites which come
to you with the Reagans' hearty, en-
dorsement? They include the follow-
ing: Corned Beef Hash, Mock Chicken
Legs, Crispy Corn Fritters, Sour
Cream Slaw, those "yummy" Peanut
Butter Cookies that Maureen men-
tioned and Mom's Cocoa Cake. Six
specialties, with directions for making
a Dagwood Sandwich thrown in, for
a "Lucky Seven" in the line of recipes.
Trying them out will prove to be a
fine way to start the New Year; and
they're yours for the asking, as always.
Be sure to enclose a stamped self-
addressed envelope when you send for
your FREE Reagan-Wyman leaflet.
THE MODERN HOSTESS, Dept. R. R.
MODERN SCREEN MAGAZINE
149 Madison Ave., New York 16, N. Y.
"Here's how I found the world's Yes, it was Royal Crown Cola ! "
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VITA-SLYM CO., Dept. M-2, P. 0. Box 159
Times Square Station, N. Y. C.
MONEY BACK AGREEMENT
Vita-Slym Co., Dept. M-2, Box 159
Times Square Station, N. Y. C.
Send me 1 month's supply of Vita-Slyms (150 ' tablets
& 60 capsules). If not delighted with results, you will
refund my money.
O I will pay postman $2.9R plus postage.
O I enclose $2.98. Send postage prepaid.
Name • •
iddress
City State
No Canadian Orders Please print plainly
(Continued from page 71)
from the guarded supervision of home.
He took to it at once, in spite of the spinach
which popped up at lunch, the spinach he
hated and the gagging rhubarb pie, sup-
posed to be so good for growing kids.
Another bore was the daily afternoon nap.
But Lon remembers Miss Lindbergh as
a patient, kindly lady who took good care
of him and taught him his elementary
lessons with thoroughness and kindness.
Years later, when he saw Martha Scott as
the schoolmistress in "Cheers for Miss
Bishop," Lon was right back in the double
seat where he learned his ABC s along
with his first lady love, a little French
girl with shiny blue-black hair. Her nat-
ural-born French coquetry and her in-
triguing way of saying her words made
six-year-old Lon fall, as today his affec-
tionate nature still falls for every girl he
woiks with on the screen. Jeanne helped
him with the baffling French words. They
held hands under the desk top and at re-
cesses raced around the school yard on
their tricycles. Jeanne is the only pupil
at Miss Lindbergh's Lon remembers clearly
today. She was his first girl.
But he didn't have much to say about
it Pneumonia seized Lon when he was
barely in knee pants. He had never been
a strong kid, physically. Lon was his
mother's boy. He inherited a fragile
build from her, and it was only through
strenuous gymnastics in his grammar
and high school days later on that he
developed the small, compact and mus-
cular body he owns today. He came home
one day from school with a fever that
soared that night. For days it was a ques-
tion whether they'd save him, but he
passed the crisis. Then for gray weeks he
lay in bed, too weak to move. The doctor
feared his lungs might succumb to t.b.
There was only one thing to do, Lons
mother reasoned— take him to Arizona
where the ozone charged air would banish
that danger.
tiny tramp . .
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APPLIED NUMBERS,
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MOVIE STARS
WM?avPor°it7RMA0,VT.E0rSPT,ANRUP
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Hollywood Screen Exchange
Box 1151— Dept. C
Hollywood 28, California, U. S. A.
They went to Phoenix and found a place
to stay right out on the desert at the foot
of Camelback Mountain. When they car-
ried Lon there, he couldn't walk. In a few
weeks he could trudge a mile or two with
his dog, "Bunny," and play like he was
hunting Indians. Then one day Lon was
missing. Missing with him was Patsy ot
course, a blanket off his bed, his bow -
and-arrow, an umbrella, a grocery basket
and cookies off the shelf. It wasn t hard
to guess what had happened. Lon had set
off on a hunting expedition. Frantically
the McCallisters scoured the desert— but
no Lon. Just before nightfall a truck
roared up to the camp. A burly driver
swung Lon down from the seat.
"Found him on the highway, he
laughed. "Kit Carson here wanted me to
take him to the mountains, but I reckoned
home was a better idea!"
Lon told his story frankly. He d set out
into the desert for wildcats or some other
interesting big game. But after a while
he ran into a fenced range crowded with
cattle, and a big bull had lumbered up bel-
lowing angrily. That was bigger game than
Lon bargained for. He scurried back to-
ward the highway, and the truckdriver
knew a runaway kid when he saw one.
Lon's naturally adventurous spirit had
got him in trouble before, but even the
dismal consequences of his first runaway
had not cured his spunky habit of hunting
distant horizons. His first Christmas in
the new Los Angeles house had been
badly crimped by that escapade, too.
trailing south . . .
Lon had made chums with two little
Japanese kids, Esau and Tetzel, sons of
the corner vegetable market man. Quickly
they confided the wonderful news about
Christmas in the Crenshaw neighborhood.
A chain of gasoline service stations had
corralled Santa Claus himself in person,
and Saint Nick was handing out marvelous
colored baloons. It was late afternoon
when this bulletin was flashed to the in-
credulous Lon. He was so fascinated that
his mother's ultimatum not to leave the
front yard went glimmering. "Come on,
said Esau, "let's go see Santa Claus.'
No kid could resist a challenge like that.
Lon tore off immediately. But the station
attendant in their block grinned. 'You
kids are too late," he said. "Santy Claus
just left here. Filled his reindeers up with
gas and went off sixty miles an hour.
No he didn't leave no balloons here.
Where is he? Why, I imagine up the
street towards Wilshire at Number 20
station."
Off Lon and his two Jap pals chased.
Santa wasn't at Number 20. Nor at Num-
ber 22. They kept up the hunt breath-
lessly. Pretty soon they were lost. That
was a black day for everybody concerned.
At home the McCallisters were wild with
fear. There had been kidnapping scares;
kids were run over every day on the fast
traffic of Los Angeles boulevards. The
whole neighborhood joined the search. The
police rolled up with wailing sirens. Lon s
dad raced his Packard up and down all the
neighborhood streets. Darkness fell and
still no trace. Madaline McCallisters
nerves snapped, and she cried hysterically.
As for Lon, he was way across town by
then, still hunting Santa.
Around nine o'clock at night a policeman
found the three seekers of childhoods
grail. They were dirty, tired and panting,
but still gamely in the chase. He raced
them back home to Lon's hysterical folks.
Lon's dad took him into the house, into
his tearful, distracted mother.
"This is your mother's birthday and now
see what you have done! You've ruined
her happiness, made her cry."
Lon himself broke into tears. That
touched him. He couldn't bear to hurt
anyone, especially the person he loved best
in the world. He couldn't give any ex-
cuses for his crime, except to stammer
out the reason: He was hunting Santa
Claus. , . ,
His father took him into the back room,
and unknown to his prostrated mother,
gave him a good tanning. When that was
over, he said, "And now I suppose you
might as well know. You've been chasing
I SAW IT HAPPEN
We'd seen three stage shows the day
before, and we were sitting through
our second the next day. The show
was "Tars And Spars" featuring Victor
Mature. My girl friend and I had got-
ten the autograph of nearly everyone
in the cast except Vic's, and frankly,
we were a little annoyed at his sitting
in the boxes during the first part of
the stage show and mugging. So when
he stuck his head out from behind
the curtains, we made a face at him,
repeating the gesture as well during
his performance that evening.
It wasn't very nice of us, I admit,
but Vic got back at us. We were sit-
ting in the first row, and Vic looked
down at us and declared, "There are
my two cousins— Im-mature and Pre-
mature!"
Even though we were embarrassed,
we were Mature fans from then on.
By the way, we got his autograph
after that show.
Dorothy Stewart,
West Allis, Wisconsin
something that wasn't there. Just a man
dolled up in a red suit. There's no such
thing as Santa Claus."
Lon's tears dried, and he stopped his
sobs. He was paralyzed by the awful thing
his father said. No Santa Claus! It was
the end of the world. He forgot the smart
of the spanking in the greater misery of
this shattering news.
Lon's ready palship with the Japanese
market kids was typical of his warm
nature and democratic outlook on life.
Although he was a little rich boy, he was
never, thanks to his sensible Midwestern
folks and his own character, ever tainted
with a touch of snobbery. Even today race
distinctions and preiudices make him crawl
inside. His own character, too, made him
naturally eager to Know and like every-
thing and everybody. As a kid he was
always getting bitten by dogs, because
he'd walk right up to all of them, strange
or familiar, and put his arms around them.
He was riding in the open Packard one
summer day with his mother when a bee
flew in and settled on the seat. Happily
Lon reached out, grabbed it and pressed
it to his face, thrilled with the buzzing
wings. Of course, the bee blitzed him
pronto, right on the end of the nose. It
seemed Lon would never learn.
That was one of the reasons he begged
to go to public school after he came back
from the Arizona health trip. Lon wanted
to be like the rest of the kids. He sensed
that private schooling set him apart from
the rest, and instinctively he didn't like it.
He got his way, and it was a lucky thing.
Events were to enter Lon's young life that
would demand all his talent for making
his way in the mob of underprivileged hu-
manity. The rich boy was to lose his
riches and become poor, about as poor
as they come, and almost overnight.
house of cards . . .
The whole nation shared in the first
tragedy — the Great Depression. The crash
that came out of the blue in 1929 caught H.
A. McCallister and his father-in-law, R. B.
Hocking, with real estate holdings and
business interests scattered all over South-
ern California. Some of the bigger prop-
erties were held on a shoe-string, and to
save them, the assets had to be cashed in.
As the Depression yawned and values
plummeted, the fortune they had built
tumbled like a stack of cards. Meanwhile
Lon's mother and father had come to a
parting of the ways.
It would be hard to say which disaster
had the most effect on Lon's young life.
His father had been away a lot on busi-
ness; Lon had never been half so close
to him as to his mother. He had always
liked his dad, as he does today (they see
each other frequently) , and he remembers
him as kindly and indulgent.
The split in Lon's family came before
the crash that swept them from wealth to
poverty. Lon's grandmother had bought an
apartment house in Los Angeles. Lon and
his mother moved in there, and for a short
time life went on as if nothing had hap-
pened. Then one day Lon saw the tight
lips and anxious frowns on the grown-ups'
faces. That night when he lay awake in
his room, he heard the murmur of the
family conference. He caught snatches of
conversation, "No place to raise the money
. . . bank's calling the loans . . . panic . . .
everyone's in the same boat . . . guess this
is the end . . . they want us to leave. . . ."
He wondered briefly what it was all about,
but pretty soon he was asleep. Next morn-
ing his mother told him. "We're going to
move.''
"But," said Lon, "I like Granny's apart-
ment house."
"I know," smiled his mother sadly, "but
it isn't Granny's house any more."
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boy's world . . .
At first poverty didn't mean much more
in Lon's life than the family separation
had. When kids are young, they accept
changes as new adventures. There s no
room in an active child's life for pride or
social distinctions. Lon went on to grade
school as if nothing had happened. But he
felt the cloud of anxiety which settled over
his family and hovered there. He saw the
tight, pinched look around his mothers
eyes, and he saw his grandfather sit star-
ing vacantly out the window. Sometimes
he even caught whispers, "I m afraid KB.
won't be able to stand this at his age. A
few times he caught ominous hints that
were supposed to be kept from his ears.
His grandfather had been muttering
something about "ending it all. Ihe
shock of losing the security they d
never questioned even stole the bustling
cheeriness of Grandmother Hocking for a
time. Madaline McCallister's fragile body
grew thinner, and the bright girlish smile
that Lon adored was absent. But the fam-
ily despair was like a brief sickness that
passed. Today, when Lon looks back he
says, 'I'm pretty proud of my family. They
did what Americans have always done
when the going got tough. They got busy.
As a girl, Madaline Hocking had been
handy with a needle, and her mother had
taught her what she knew. They d set up
a dressmaking establishment. Lons
mother designed the dresses and Grandma
Hocking sewed them. Their prices were
cheap; they had to be. But nobody knew
them, few customers came in. In a tew
weeks they knew they'd have to try some-
thing else, something, too, that Grand-
father Hocking could have a hand in. tie
was getting restless and gloomy.
They turned to the only other domestic
skill they had, cooking. Back in Illinois,
as she is today, Grandma Hocking had
been famous for her cakes and pies. They
found a cafe they could rent down m the
industrial section of Los Angeles. All ot
them went to work, even Lon on batur-
days and Sundays, washing dishes and
hustling out trays. The customers were
mostly truck drivers and laborers, and to
cater to them, the lunch room had to open
early and close late. Every morning the
house was empty, except for Lon, at five
o'clock. His breakfast, cooked, but cold,
was on the stove. When he got up, Lon
warmed and ate it and went off to school.
He had lunch at school, and he fixed his
own dinner at night. He didnt see his
family again until they got home, ex-
hausted, at 9 o'clock that evening. And
Lon was just eight years old.
But already he was a cheerful, self-
sufficient little guy. He had no playmates
in the new neighborhood, but he had a new
pup, Patsy. He could have fun by him-
self He glued together kites and flew them
until they snagged on telephone wires. His
electric train, Lon's most prized possession,
had survived the financial wreck. He sat
it up in the house. He had some books, too,
kids books-"The Wizard of Oz," 'Black
Beauty," Stevenson's "A Child s Garden
of Verses" He could lie on the floor tor
hours lost in these and other books he
could bring home from school. But most
of the time he just sat out on the front
steps of the flat, watching people go by,
playing with Patsy and day-dreaming. He
could always find plenty to dream about,
as Lon still can today.
I SAW IT HAPPEN
When Walter Pidgeon was here in
Washington for the President's Birth-
day Ball, I called him at his hotel with
the intention of getting an interview
with him for my school paper.
When I was finally put through to
his room, a man sounding suspiciously
like Mr. Pidgeon answered, and after
hearing the purpose of my call told
me, "Mr. Pidgeon is taking a shower.
I told him he sounded very much
like Mr. Pidgeon, whereupon he said
he was complimented and called out
to the "bathing" Mr. P., "She says I
sound like you." n
After a moment of "conversation,
he reported that Mr. Pidgeon said he
was insulted but that he would talk
to me anyhow.
ho and behold, the receiver was
picked up, and the same voice con-
tinued with, "How are you, my dear—
this is Walter Pidgeon— what can 1 do
for you?" . ,
Golly, what a grand guy he is— and,
what a sensayuma!
June B. Klein,
Washington, D. C.
76
such little pleasures . . .
The worst part of the day was supper
alone. Especially since the cupboard was so
often bare. Beef bouillon cubes were cheap
and nourishing. Lon supped bouillon until
today he can't look at the stuff without
gagging The high spot was when his folks
trudged in tired from the long day, and his
mother and grandmother prepared late
supper for themselves, which Lon usually
managed to share. He knew he should
have been in bed and so did his folks, but
it was the only time they could be together.
But the cafe venture was a flop. The
profits weren't enough to pay the rent.
One night Lon learned he was to move
again. His mother had lost the lunchroom.
She had taken a job as a waitress at the
Mesa Cafe in Huntington Park. There was
part of a house there she had rented on the
promise of her first pay check Things
will be all right," she smiled bravely.
"With a salary we'll know what to count
^Before he reached Junior High he was
to switch around to ten or twelve
different schools. In every one he had to
establish himself with the kids and
teachers both, a tough job for a youngster.
But his natural friendliness and eager
personality saw Lon through. He hadnt
been in the Huntington Park grade school
a week before he organized a club.
They met to go to the picture show every
Saturday morning. There was a special
rate for kids on Saturdays. Lon s mother
could usually spare a dime or two for the
movies. So Lon found a new setting tor
his world of dreams— the high adventures
made in Hollywood. From that moment on
he was a movie fan. He still is.
from bad to worse ...
But soon even the dimes for Lon's
Saturday club movies couldn't be spared.
There wasn't half enough to make ends
meet, and finally Lon's mother was laid
off People laughed at her and at Grand-
maw and Grandpaw Hocking when they
hunted jobs. Jobs? Know any other funny
stories7 They came down to the end ot
their rope. The landlord came around.
"I'm sorry," he said, "to have to do this
to nice folks like you. But Ive got to
pay my taxes. Guess I'll have to ask you
t0There'was no place to go. Something
had to happen, and of course it did A
friend of Grandmaw Hocking s m the days
when she was an apartment owner heard
of a vacancy at the Alcazar Apartments, m
Los Angeles. The manager had left; they
needed a couple, manager and houseman
Grandmother and Grandfather Hocking
hastily got on their best clothes. But when
they started to leave, they remembered an
item The carfare. They looked m their
pockets and pocketbook. They were bare
as bones. There wasn't enough money in
the house to get them to the job. Finally
Madaline remembered, "I've got a dollar
put away in my Bible," she said. "I've been
saving it for Lon's birthday present." Out
it came, and the journey was financed.
Grandpaw and Grandmaw came through.
They got the job — also an advance in sal-
ary to stock up the manager's cupboard
with groceries and to bring carfare to Lon
and his mother. Lon McCallister moved
again.
On the busy blocks near the Alcazar he
started a magazine route and earned his
first money. The Alcazar was on Alvarado
Street, center of what used to be the
swanky district when Hollywood was
young. Ramon Novarro's old house stood
nearby, and sometimes in the afternoons
Lon would sneak over the fence and wan-
der around the grounds. There was a
neighborhood movie house, too, on Alva-
rado, right across the street, and soon dimes
again for Saturday morning shows.
He went to Union Avenue Grade
School, and it kept him busy. He was a
good student. He liked history and English
and geography and languages. He hated
math. On the playground Lon found he
was good on the double bars, the swings
and rings. He was too light for rough
games like football, but he was fast. In the
Sixth Grade he won sprints and made the
school relay team. Later on in Junior and
Senior High School he was to make the
gym team and win his letter at basketball.
Lon was a leader, too — into everything
that had to do with school activities. He
was in all the school shows, and as usual,
he tumbled for the first girl he played
with. Her name was Patricia, with black
Irish hair. Later on in Junior High, Lon's
girl, Dorothea, was to be a brunette, too.
The influence of his first girl, little French
Jeanne, clung to him. For a long time
young Lon was one gentleman who never
preferred blondes.
The move to Hollywood took place when
Lon was about thirteen. Grandfather
Hocking found a steady job at last as night
watchman at Universal Studios. That was
too far a ride from Alvarado Street. Grand-
mother found another apartment house to
run now, on Yucca Street in Hollywood
right off the Boulevard and smack behind
Warner Brothers' Hollywood Theater. The
first night Lon. moved into this strange
new world, he saw crowds hurrying to
the theater, shiny cars jamming the street,
searchlights combing the sky. Entranced,
he wandered down to the corner of Wilcox
and the Boulevard. "What's going on?"
Lon asked the newsboy.
"Pre-meer," said the newsboy, shortly.
"What's that?"
"What's a 'premeer'?" Lon found himself
shattered with incredulous scorn. "Say,
kid, you don't know nothin', do you?"
screen stories . . .
It was true. Lon didn't know much of
anything about the ways of Hollywood.
But he soon found out. Living a block
from the Boulevard a kid would have to
be deaf, dumb and blind not to learn fast.
And going to LeConte Junior High, as Lon
soon did, was almost a pre-induction course
in Hollywood studio life. All the kids there,
it seemed, were veteran extras, stand-ins,
even stars. Bonita Granville went to school
at LeConte, and Jane Withers' stand-in was
in Lon's class.
Everywhere he turned he ran into
glamorous show business. Walking down
the Boulevard, a treat he still loves, he
saw famous faces. At his favorite Boule-
vard movie house, the Iris, where he
redoubled his fervor as a fan, he used to
spell out his name "B-u-d M-c-C-a-1-
1-i-s-t-e-r" (for now he was "Bud;"
long since the school kids had razzed him
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shamefully about the HA. and made
rowdy cracks about it) up in imaginary
lights, as almost every kid in Hollywood
has at one time or another.
on the outside ...
Grandpaw Hocking, on special nights,
would slip Lon in with him at Universal to
make the rounds, explaining what he had
learned about the mysterious movie plant.
Sometimes there would be night companies
shooting on the blazing stages, and Lon
could stand silent in the dark shadows,
open mouthed, and watch. On Friday
nights, when he could sleep late the next
morning, Lon would stay all night.
Even his mother, who now had a recep-
tionist job in the office of a Hollywood
dentist, would come home with stories ot
movie-famous patients. t
The Hollywood fever struck all ot Lons
family. His mother found she was just the
same size as petite Janet Gaynor, and she
learned that Janet was looking for a
stand-in. For a while she talked about
getting the job. Grandpaw Hocking was
snatched from his watchman's post a time
or two to walk before a camera at Uni-
versal. Even Grandmaw Hocking was told
by people who ought to know that she was
a wonderful "grandmother type" for the
movies. Later on, too, she was.
There wasn't much glamour behind all
of this. The object was money. The Hock-
ings and McCallisters were still living from
hand to mouth. Lon, young as he was, felt
guilty that he wasn't helping out on the
family budget. It hurt him to see his
grandparents and his frail mother working
while all he did was go to school. He was
old for his years. The tales of easy studio
money the kids at school told inflamed his
desire to earn his own way. But nothing
seemed to happen. After all, kids weren t
any too anxious to cut a newcomer in on
the studio know-how. It might take money
away from them.
At last Lon's eagerness for activity won
him his chance. Mere school work wasn t
enough for his energies. He joined a boy s
singing organization called the Maxwell
Choristers. Lon had a clear young tenor
voice. One Friday night the director had
a surprise for the group.
"Everybody show up tomorrow after-
noon," he said. "M-G-M is looking for
choir boys to sing in their big Shake-
spearean movie, 'Romeo and Juliet.' Were
going to try out."
The whole kid's choir tumbled out of the
bus the next morning at M-G-M's big
gates. Lon was in the front row, excited
and eager. For the first time in his life
he was entering a studio by the front door
to be an actor himself. He had visions of
the bright, blazing sets he had seen nights
with his Universal watchman Grandfather.
Stars - would be smiling a welcome. He
knew his dream movie queen, Norma
Shearer, was the star of "Romeo and
Juliet." Probably she would walk up to
him, smiling dazzlingly and say, "This is
just the young man we've been lookmg
for!" He marched inside in a daze.
I SAW IT HAPPEN
One of Hollywood's best known
juvenile leads made a personal ap-
pearance in our city to help boost Wat-
Bond sales, just before being shipped
overseas. As it happened, one of the
last pictures he'd made before enter-
ing the service was being shown at the
local theater, which only served to in-
crease his tremendous popularity. He
was being besieged by eager fans
when one girl, especially noted for her
gushing manner, cooed to the star,
"Oh, have you seen yourself at the
State?" , , „.T
The actor didn't even look up. ivo.
As a matter of fact, I have a very
weak stomach"— and went right on
signing, "Lieut. Tom Brown!"
David Ragan,
Jackson, Tennessee
by the skin of his teeth . . .
But instead of that rosy picture, Lon
found himself directed to a big, barnlike
stage, dark and dusty, with carpenters
pounding in the wings and rough workmen
brushing past. No lovely Norma Shearer
was anywhere about! A man in slacks and
a sport shirt stood on a chair and looked
over the group. "Can't use half that
many," he stated and Lon's heart sunk.
"Line them up," he ordered.
Lon lined up with the rest. An assistant
director walked down the line, and as
Director George Cukor scanned the faces
of the group and nodded, he had them
step out of line. The last one stepped out
before they came to Lon. "That s enough,
said Cukor. "Okay, kids," barked the as-
sistant. "You can go now."
Lon turned slowly toward the door with
his heart down to his heels. Halfway to
the heavy sound-stage door somebody
yelled, "Wait a minute! Wait^a minute!
We're one shy. Line up again."
Lon lined up with the rest. But now he
was disillusioned. They would never pick
him This time Cukor himself walked
down the line. He didn't walk far. The
minute he saw Lon he said unmistakably.
"Didn't I choose you before?"
"No," said Lon. ,
"I meant to," said the director. 'You re
a perfect choir boy. All right, thats all.
Everybody show up for wardrobe fitting
Monday morning!" •
Lon McCallister rode home with a whir-
ling brain. He was actually to work m a
studio like all the rest of the kids!
He was to begin as a choir boy and
maintain through all his scores of extra
jobs that spiritual freshness which set
him apart from the other extras and
earned him the nickname of "The Angel
Extra" What George Cukor had noticed
in that brief choir-casting other directors,
stars and finally the great American public
were to discover and like well enough to
make Lon McCallister the brightest young
star in all Hollywood.
But thoughts like that were completely
absent from Lon's spinning brain that day
as the bus jolted him back home to the
small apartment back of the Boulevard
where about this time his mother would
be coming home from work, tired but
courageous. Where the harassing apart-
ment house duties of his cheerful grand-
mother, which never ended, would be
going on. Where Grandfather Hockmg
would be rousing himself from his day's
rest and packing his snack for the all-night
rounds at the studio.
What thrilled fourteen-year-old Lon was
the triumphant thought that now he, too,
was a family breadwinner. Now he had a
man-sized job with a man-sized check to
contribute to the pot. He felt suddenly
grown up and strong. He recognized then
his first goal, which he never abandoned
until he realized it. "I'll be earning enough
soon," he told himself, "so that Granny and
Mom can stop work." Ambition was to
come later. What loomed large about the
wonder of Hollywood to Lon McCallister
then was the money, and what it could
mean to the people he loved best in the
world. , „ , ,„ ,
"Five days at ten dollars a day! he
exulted. "Five times ten is fifty. Fifty
dollars! Golly!"
Part II of Lon McCallister's life
story will appear in the February
issue of MODERN SCREEN.
OH, KAYE!
(Continued from page 33)
he lisped, and suddenly saw himself — a
grown man, standing there like a big dope,
talking baby talk. He blushed his way
through the number.
After the rehearsal, Vinton Freedley
came up. "I'm a little worried about that
fairy tale thing."
"Don't worry," said Danny. "I've been
through this before. If it's bad opening
night, I'll cut it faster than anyone else."
Opening night. The murmur from be-
yond the curtain. The hush that's like no
other hush in the world as the lights dim
and the curtain rises. Danny stepped out,
and his eyes met that sea of faces, and the
spark ignited —
"Onth upon a time," he lisped, and the
audience went woff ! He forgot about him-
self and his inhibitions, about being grown-
up and looking like a dope. He was inside
and outside his skin at the same time, doing
things he'd never dreamed of in rehearsal,
feeling almost as if they were doing them-
selves. All that existed was the live cur-
rent running between him and the audi-
ence, electrifying both. The number Freed-
ley was worried about stopped the show.
Lots of movie actors hate being watched.
It makes them self-conscious. It makes
Danny self-conscious not to be watched.
Before a big production number, they start
herding people in from all over the lot to
spark Danny up.
Both his parents were gay people. At
five, Danny was singing the Russian folk-
songs they loved. What tickled them most,
though, was the way he'd spot people's od-
dities— a characteristic gesture, a quirk
of expression — and reproduce them to the
life. It tickled the kids at school, too.
But all that was just a minor sideline with
Danny. As he grew into his teens, two
passions obsessed him. If he wasn't play-
ing baseball or yelling from the bleachers
of Ebbets Field, "C'mon you bums!" he'd
be tagging along with an older friend, al-
ready in medical school. He'd never con-
sider being anything but a doctor. To
Danny, a smashed finger spelled romance.
"Wait a minute," he'd beg. "Let me fix it."
That dream was shattered by an experi-
ence which his father shared with others
around that time. He lost most of his money,
which meant no college. For a while Danny
was lost, too. Cut off from the clear road
ahead, with its shining goal, he could find
no other. His father, a wise man, kept his
hands off. Even when Danny ran away.
It was a pretty casual flight. "Hey," said
a friend, "wanna hitch-hike to Florida?"
"Gee, that might be fun!"
In addition to their thumbs, Danny was
equipped with a voice, the other guy with
a uke. They bartered entertainment for
mileage. Pop was upset at first and had
them traced to Baltimore. But when the
cop said, "They're okay— I'd let 'em go
ahead if I were you," Pop took his advice.
Neither did he bother the boy during the
dim days that followed when Danny's life
was bounded by movies, sleeping and
brooding. For want of other occupation,
he developed complexes, turned sour on
the gang. With his songs and mimicry, he'd
always been the life of the party. There
the guys would sit, laughing their fool
heads off, and next to each guy sat his girl.
Danny had no girl. He concluded that
they loved him not for himself alone, but
for free entertainment. So he forsook
society for the movie palaces — patronized
four of five shows, got home at one and
slept the morning through.
Pop's friends were disturbed. "He's a
big boy. It's time he went to work. Why
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don't you talk to him?"
Only Pop remained tranquil. When he
decides what he wants to do, he'll do it.
Meantime, I'll make believe hes going to
college." And Danny'd find a five-dollar
bill under his pillow. .
He'd fill in with odd jobs. When a friend
said, "I'm going to a summer camp— want
to go along?" it was just another odd job
at first. Even when he got to be star of the
borscht circuit, earning top dough of a
thousand a season, that money had to last
him the winter. But they did a new show
every week— with Danny as character actor
and general funny man— and the experi-
ence was good. An idea that had long
lain fallow in his mind began to sprout.
Could he make a living this way?
He was still too diffident to look the
thought straight in the face. He d kind ot
sling his eyes round at it, then quick turn
the other way. Nevertheless, it was tak-
ing root. "Gee, why don't you try snow
business?" the kids would ask, and the lit-
tle plant would grow another green leaf.
But it always wilted under the eyes ot
agents.
china bound ...
Because he did finally muster the cour-
age to beard a few agents. He d walk m
and they'd say, "What do you do? so he d
turn around and walk out again. He didn t
know what he did.
"Sing?" the agent would ask.
"A little."
"Dance?"
"A little."
"Jokes9"
"I dunno," he'd mutter and get the hell
out before they threw him out.
Then at camp one summer, he fell in with
Dave Harvey and Kathleen Young, dancers.
Among them, they whipped up an act,
got themselves bookings nobody else would
take and toured all the waterholes of
America. To Danny, they were glorified
waterholes. He was on the stage, having
fun, earning enough to eat and sleep on.
For the moment, that was ecstasy enough.
In Detroit, A. B. Marcus, theatrical big
shot, caught the show and arrived back-
stage. "I need a dancing act, he said.
"How would you like to go to China?
Who, them? He must be crazy. Or it it
was a joke, haha! But they'd work for
him here. ■ . T
"Okay," said A. B. "Those two people I
want. The blonde fellow I don't need.
Dave was no blonde. He looked at Kath-
leen, got his answer and delivered an ulti-
matum. "We're not breaking up the act
But what A. B. didn't need, he wasnt
paying for. He'd take all three at the salary
he'd intended for two. Thanks to Danny s
partners, that's how the deal was made At
the end of two weeks, the blonde fellow
was working in fourteen of the shows
sixteen acts, and the team was on its way.
As the passports and travel folders started
coming in, they caught the fever Why
China? became— Why not China?— and
they sent for their passports.
A year and more in the Orient, then
Danny drew up a balance sheet. He was
getting priceless experience in pantomime
and dialect, he was part of a big friendly
family, he was earning fifty a week and
saving. On the other hand, he was twenty-
two, he could stay with the troupe thirty
years and have nothing to show for it, now
was as good a time as any to break away.
Back to New York and the agents.
"What've you done?" He told them. Can
you do an act alone?" He didn't know.
That was 1935. For four years he knocked
around, taking club dates, touring with
Sally Rand, stooging for Nick Long, Jr.
through a London season, getting nowhere
but deeper into the slough of despond. At
last he set a deadline. "I'll give myself
till I'm thirty, then I'll quit."
It was in the spring of '39 that Nat
Lichtman asked him to do some songs for
a semi-professional show they were putting
on Danny went with him to the rehearsal
loft, and there sat the dark-haired girl,
running over some music. Like all good
love stories, this one started with a fight-
about tempos or keys or some such non-
sense. But as Danny sang, Sylvia looked
up, startled. And when he was through,
she went over to the producer. n
"I've just heard a great new star.
"What're you talking about?" f
"That blonde guy who ; just sang. Hes
going to be a great star."
Soon Danny found himself seeing Sylvia
home. "You happen to know a Dr. Fine
who used to live in East New York?"
"He's my father." „
"I used to drill holes in his woodwork.
While his boss was out, Danny'd turn den-
tist, don a white coat, open a drawer, pick
a drill, start the machine and look around
for a patient. He couldn't drill air, so he
drilled the woodwork. .
"We used to wonder about those holes,
said Sylvia.
With that bond established, others grew.
Sylvia'd been working with Max Liebman
at Camp Tamiment— the Theatre Guild of
the summer places. She was going back
that season and talked Danny into going
along. She wrote some numbers for him,
and they found the professional partner-
ship exciting. Sylvia'd get an idea, they'd
discuss it, she'd put it on paper, they'd fool
around with it, change it, rehearse it—
with Danny adding business. Like Gilbert
and Sullivan, they complemented each
other — fathered and mothered a new form
of entertainment. It was hard work, but
profoundly exhilarating.
The best of that summer's output went
into "Straw Hat Revue" which didn't last
long. They still hadn't found the right
presentation formula. Danny decided he
had to get away from it all. His last
few dollars took him to Florida.
One day Sylvia's phone rang. Danny's
voice on long distance. "Why don't you
come down to Florida?"
"What for?"
"I want to get married."
"Who's the girl?"
"You." , ,
"Mhm. Well, I'll come down, but I don t
think we'll get married."
So they got married— both shaking with
fright in the car that took them over to
Ft. Lauderdale. Sylvia had a solid capi-
tal of thirty dollars. Danny's was misty-
he can't remember whether he had or owed
forty. If either had said, "Let's call the
whole thing off," the other would have
dissolved in blessed relief. Being stubborn,
they both kept their mouths shut.
Back in New York, they started re-work-
ing their numbers. It meant nothing to
them that a man named Dario was open-
ing a swank night club called the Mar-
tinique. Operating on a shoestring, he was
frantic for entertainment, but couldn't pay
more than two hundred fifty a week.
Bestry, the agent, suggested The Kayes—
"Who are they?"
He murmured something about summer
CclIYipS •
"Yah!" snorted Dario. "All right, get
them. No, what do I want to see them for?
If they're from summer camps, I know
they stink. But for two fifty, you can't
buy orchids." • - '
To the Kayes, two fifty was celestial
music. The cafe opened, Danny went on
for the dinner show, and flopped. They
didn't know what to make of him. No
risque songs, no jokes, some screwy num-
ber about Stanislavsky. Anyway, they
were hungry.
Down but not out, Sylvia and Danny
ie-routined the show. Next time he was
less nervous, the crowd less concerned
with food. This time the numbers got
through in all their wit and slyness and
subtlety, and the crowd fell on its face.
Danny Kaye's name became a Broadway
byword, the customers poured in, and the
Martinique nourished, not to mention the
Kayes. On their first payday, Sylvia was
ill. Danny collected their salary in five-
dollar bills and strewed them over her bed.
Among the repeating customers was Moss
Hart, who said to Danny one night: "If 1
ever do a revue, I'd like you in it."
Three days later he phoned, and his
voice was apologetic. "Look, Danny, I
hate to ask you — there's a part in 'Lady in
the Dark,' but it's pretty small — would you
be interested?"
Danny didn't fall down, because he was
sitting, but the floor rose up and hit him
in the face. A part in Moss Hart's show
with Sam Harris producing and Gertie
Lawrence starring! And Hart asking him
to do it as a favor yet! A strangled voice
reached Hart's ears. "Sure," it said. "Sure.
I'd be interested."
As usual, Danny didn't shine in rehear-
sal. He was all right, and that's all. The
Broadway boys told Hart he was crazy,
taking a chance on a night club entertainer
'So I'm crazy," said Hart.
a night to remember . . .
They opened in Boston. The first act
didn't hold much for Danny. His big mo-
ment came in the second, with the Tschai-
kowsky number. Big was the word for it.
As he jumped on the horse for the finish,
the house broke loose. Ira Gershwin
walked out to the lobby, smoked a cigar-
ette and, when he came back, they were
still applauding. Danny sat on his norse,
happier and more worried than he'd ever
been in his life. Because who was the
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star of this show anyway? And how was
she going to like this demonstration—?
Miss Lawrence looked at Danny and
bowed. Danny bowed back. She stepped
toward the footlights, lifted her chin and
sailed into "Jenny." Never had she sung
it as she did that night. It was magnificent
and thrilling — a thoroughbred rising to the
challenge of the race — a master show wom-
an topping her own heights — Gertie Law-
rence, incredibly better than her superb
best. The audience went wild, none wilder
than Danny up there on his horse, mopping
the sweat from his brow, thanking God for
Gertie. For what seemed exquisite hours
on end, the crowd kept them bowing to
each other and wouldn't let them go. The
Englishwoman had known many nights of
triumph. This was the Brooklyn boy's
first, and its memory is hallowed.
His father's pride in Danny's success was
a thing of gradual growth. So he was in
for a shock at the New York opening of
"Lady in the Dark." Danny's first appear-
ance in his chauffeur's uniform brought a
nice hand from his cafe following. Be-
wildered, Pop turned to his companion.
You mean they know him?" Backstage,
after the show, he didn't say a word, just
kept looking at Danny. Here was a whole
new kind of a son.
Later, he grew more articulate. At least
once a month he'd go to see "Let's Face It."
Danny could spot him from the stage and
noticed that, after the first few times, Pop
didn't watch him. Arms folded, he gave his
attention to the audience. When they got
hysterical, he'd nod and beam encourage-
ment, much as to say, "You haven't seen
anything yet." Now and then he'd lean
over to some particularly appreciative
stranger. Clearly as though he could hear
the words, Danny knew what they were.
"That's my boy up there."
Sam Goldwyn snagged him because he
was smart enough to take an agent's ad-
vice. While Danny was still in "Lady in
the Dark," Abe Lastfogel of the William
Morris agency, phoned Goldwyn, "You
better come see this guy." For the first
time, Goldwyn planed East to catch a per-
formance. "How about pictures?" he asked
the performer. Danny wasn't ready yet,
but agreed to get in touch with Goldwyn
when the time came. A week at Giro's in
Hollywood really set the wires buzzing.
True to his promise, however, Danny went
with Goldwyn when the time came.
Now he's working in "The Wonder Man.
But he doesn't want to make so-called
Danny Kaye starrers all his life. Nor has
he any suppressed urge to play Hamlet.
What he does want is variety and scope in
characterization — to play, not a stereotype,
but people as he's observed them, with
their humors and crotchets and vagaries.
Guthrie McClintic once said to him — "I'd
like to do a play with you some time."
"Wouldn't that take a lot of guts?"
"No. Never be afraid to do the unex-
pected. People don't expect romance from
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you, for instance, yet I saw you do a simple
love scene that moved me very much. No
good glassblower goes on making the same
mold forever. He breaks it and tries an-
other and another. The new one may not
be as pretty, but at least he knows^ he's
alive— and it may be prettier. Don't be
afraid to break the mould, Danny." Give
him a chance to break it, and he won't mind
being the biggest flop on Broadway.
He and Sylvia still have that bird-of-
passage feeling, so they live in a rented
house. Sylvia's just finished sweating out
her stuff for "The Wonder Man." Each
number's like having a baby, and leaves
her exhausted. Danny's working his head
off, too, gets home at 6:30, sits around for
a couple of hours after dinner, and tumbles
into bed. He doesn't drink, but goes off on
food binges — all-Chinese or Italian food for
two weeks in a row till he can't stand the
sight of it. But he'd still rather watch an
appendectomy than eat.
The biggest fizzle of his life came when
"Let's Face It" opened. For years he'd
dreamed of seeing his name up in lights.
New York was blacked out for the first
time that night, and stayed blacked out.
His biggest thrill, apart from acting, was
putting on a Dodger uniform, working out
with the boys and gazing up at the bleach-
ers where he used to sit for fifty-five cents.
He met Durocher five years ago, and
they've been fast friends since. When Dan-
ny was between pictures, they toured Army
and Navy camps together. The Lip told
baseball stories for an hour, wound up do-
ing a song and dance with Danny and frac-
tured 'em. Danny's the same sizzling fan
he always was. If he'd been back East last
summer, personally watching dem bums
slide down dem cellar stairs, he'd have
killed himself.
the kitchen cabinet . . .
Since the Martinique days, he hasn't
seen a salary check. His affairs are handled
by a four-man kitchen cabinet — himself
and Sylvia, Eddie Dukoff— his agent, Lou
Mendel— his lawyer. Like a diaper com-
pany. "I'm the diaper," he says. "Sylvia ad-
vertises me. Eddie sells me. Lou manages
me." He gets an allowance and doesn't
have time to spend that when he's working.
Never plays cards and has no talent for
gambling. If he saw a pair of socks he
wanted for sixty bucks, he'd buy them.
But let him lose a dollar on a golf game,
and he'll kick himself all over the joint.
He likes to give Sylvia presents because
she gets a very cute expression on her face.
One day she admired a garnet necklace in a
window.
"Why don't you buy it?"
"Oh, that's silly. I don't need it." So
he hoarded his allowance in an old shoe
and bought her the necklace. She got a
very cute expression on her face.
For himself, he doesn't care about
jewelry. All he wears is his mother's wed-
ding ring, and that's been on his finger for
16 years.
He's careful to call himself, not an actor,
but an entertainer. That's the old diffidence
cropping out, plus pride. He'll claim noth-
ing that's not freely granted. A shrewd
operator in the business, whose words are
few and to the point, heard of this foible.
"So he ain't an actor," he snorted. "So
he's only a genius."
PERFUME WEAVES A MAGIC SPELL
(Continued from page 53)
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evening. But, instead, there are many new
and exciting ways to use perfume that will
mark you as something pretty special.
When a gal is in a Humphrey-Bogart-lead-
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scent, with a definite lilt to emphasize her
femininity. A perfume on the "heavy
side is her choice, something like an un-
tamed fragrance. A few drops down her
bosom, across her shoulders and around
her ankles, will surround her with an air
of naughty-but-nice charm.
And for that special time when hearts
are gay? I nominate an intoxicating scent
with a spicy tang, neither light or heavy,
yet having a definite note ... a heartbeat!
A gay, lilting perfume, brushed across her
lips and finger tips will make a girl feel
that she's floating on clouds.
Then, too, there are times when a girl is
off in a cloud of fantasy. A clinging floral
bouquet, "a poetic dream," is exciting in
the flight from the obvious. So, naturally,
let's not be obvious in the use of perfume.
A few drops behind the knees, trailed at the
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When you're wearing that pastel sheer
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April shower. It will become a particular
pet of yours, I promise!
The secret of using perfume enchantmgly
is simply this: Not one heavy application in
one place but many light ones, scattered.
Suppose you're simply swoony about an
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Herewith is an extra list of perfuming
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than to slip into a delicately perfumed slip?
(2) Your dress should be pre-perfumed,
too. If sprayed on an hour or two before
wearing, you'll be sure of not being too
heavily perfumed. (3) Wide sleeves, float-
ing draperies, should leave a trail of per-
fume in their wake . . . and a perfume that
says "follow me" would be grand. (4)
Artificial flowers should smell like the
original. (5) Gloves carry perfume well.
(6) Every heroine of romance has per-
fumed hair. Men adore this siren touch,
so don't neglect it! A few drops of perfume
(or eau de cologne or toilet water) in the
last rinse is a good idea. And don't forget
eyebrows! (7) A drop on the blotter in
the stationery box scents the paper.
When you know how, shopping for per-
fume is fun. Always try the perfume on
your skin. The back of your hand will
do. Taking a whiff out of the bottle is an
untrue test because alcoholic gases form at
the neck of the bottle. Too, sometimes the
chemistry of the skin mixes with perfume
(I know this even though I flunked
Chemistry 3) and gives it a slightly dif-
ferent fragrance for each individual.
Once you collect your favorites, take
care of them. Don't leave loosely stoppered
perfume bottles on your dressing table.
It may impress your girl friends, but per-
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is bad for it. Keep it in the cool dark. Keep
it tightly stoppered. Never hoard perfume
-en3°y it! * * *
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Modern Screen, 149 Madison Ave., New
York 16, N. Y.
DREAM WALKING
{Continued from page 35)
"Please, Mr. Meiklejohn, isn't there some
tiny little bit I can do?"
"Well, we're thinking things over. We've
got some ideas."
She mightn't have cared so desperately
if things hadn't started off with such a
bang. Sometimes she wished they hadn't
started at all. There she'd been, minding
her own business, peacefully going to
school and playing with Peter Merenblum's
Junior Symphony Orchestra. She'd started
playing at four. Mother taught music. At
three, Dolly 'd sit on the table and listen.
Then she began picking out notes for her-
self. Later on she lost interest. But when
she was about ten, she began to under-
stand music and really to love it.
treading on air . . .
One day Virginia Ellis's mother phoned.
Virginia was a violinist with the orchestra,
and Paramount wanted her for an audition.
Could Dol-'y go along to accompany?
Well, you can imagine! Being 13 and
going to a movie studio for the first time!
"Now, darling, don't get excited," Mother
said. "Remember you're just accompany-
ing Virginia."
She tried to remember, but how can you
remember anything when a man opens a
door for you, and you look up, and it's
Joel McCrea! And suddenly there's Su-
sanna Foster, looking so beautiful! And
after you finished playing for Virginia,
somebody says, "Can you play a solo?"
and you play a Chopin waltz, and they
say, "We'll call you."
"That's what they always say," Mother
warned her that evening, trying to calm
her down. "It doesn't mean a thing."
A couple of weeks later she was awfully
glad she hadn't told the girls. Because
Mother'd been right. Nothing happened.
Not for a month. Then they called her
back. This time Mother went along. Dolly
played and talked into a mike, and they
asked if she knew Grieg's Concerto. No?
Well, could she learn it?
"How long will you give her?" asked
Mother.
"Two weeks."
Well, the story's been told and retold —
how she went back and played the first
movement of the Concerto, and one Satur-
day morning they finally signed her, and
she raced home to tell Lois and everyone.
And she worked in the picture, and Su-
sanna Foster became her guardian angel;
and when it was over, they were sent on
this wonderful tour of the South together.
That was months and months ago. Now
the bubble had burst, and the rainbow
faded. Yes, she was still under contract —
for all the good it did her. Nobody knew
she existed.
But she didn't want to go back to the
piano — not for a career — she wanted to act!
Dolly walked to the window — waited
and watched the sky— and at last she saw
it. Her lips moved:
"Starlight, starbright,
First star I see tonight — "
She wasn't really superstitious, but she
always wished on the first star. This time
it worked. Because a few days later,
Johnny Del Valle, one of the publicity
men, said, "I'm sick of seeing you around,"
and took her to Jules Schirmer, who said
lie'd use her in the next Aldrich picture.
But that wasn't all. Before they could
;et the Aldrich script read, Mr. Mayo of
i he talent department sent for her. "I've
been thinking of you for 'The Major and
the Minor.' Only Brackett and Wilder want
a younger girl. You'll have to wear flat
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heels and lie about your age.
She'd have worn horns, if necessary.
They tested her, they measured her up
against Ginger Rogers for height. At last
came those unbelievable words, Guess
she'll be all right."
overtime in heaven . . .
Those first days on the set whenever the
business manager appeared, her heart
would stop, waiting for him to come over,
waiting for the words, "Sorry, we're re-
placing you." He never said them. All
they did was change her name. Loehr was
hard to pronounce, and Dolly sounded
sort of childish. Her real name was Do-
lores, but nobody'd ever called her that.
The only bad thing about the picture
was, it came to an end. "You're not going
to cry," Diana told herself. But she couldn t
help it, so she ducked into an empty dress-
ing room that happened to be Ray Mil-
land's, and bawled.
Well, there wasn't much to cry about
after that— what with two Aldrich pictures,
then "Miracle of Morgan's Creek," "And
the Angels Sing." But by now she was fast
becoming everybody's little sister— and
Paramount had bought "Our Hearts Were
Young and Gay." ,
So she started brooding again, but con-
structively this time. Jim Davies was her
friend. He was also the studio masseur.
Among others, he massaged Sheridan Gib-
ney who was writing the screenplay. A.
little scheme shaped itself in Diana's head.
She planted herself where she'd just hap-
pen casually to run into Jim Davies.
"Gosh, Jim, that's a wonderful book.
Who d'you think's going to do it?"
"Would you like to?" grinned Jim.
So she stopped being subtle. Would 1!
Jim was an angel, he drove Mr. Gibney
crazy. With every whack and pummel,
he'd say, "Why don't you try Diana Lynn?"
Every day she'd sneak up to whisper,
"How's it going?"
He'd wink and whisper back, I m work-
ing on it." _
One day he talked out loud. "Gibney
wants to see you. He doesn't think you can
do it, but he'll see you anyway.'
She bought her first really sophisticated
outfit— navy blue and white. "Too old.
Mother said, which pleased Diana no end.
So first thing Mr. Gibney said was,
"You're awfully young."
"I'm nearly 17— and getting older all the
time," she pleaded. '
"But you look so young.
"That's on account of the dress. Never
did anyone do a backflip so fast. "Its a
very young dress. I can look much older.
"Mhm. Well, we'll test you and see."
They tested lots of others, but she finally
got it. And that seemed to do the trick.
Because afterwards, without any prodding,
they gave her the romantic lead in Out
of This World" and a dressing room on the
set and star billing with Eddie Bracken.
She'll be 18 in October, and it was a
thrill to graduate in cap and gown last
June with her class at University High
School. .
The worst chore of her life is waking up
mornings. Also, she belongs to the cheer-
ful - at - breakfast - nasty - before - dinner
school. Mother says, "What happened at
the studio?" and she won't talk.
In many ways, she's a trial round the
house Mother and Dad spend their life
saying: "Turn that radio lower." Then
Mother can't stand disorder. So you might
know she'd have a daughter like Diana,
who strews clothes all over the room and
says, "I'll pick 'em up later." Also loses
things in a steady stream— keys, scarves,
scripts, anything that's not nailed down.
Besides wishing on a star, her only other
superstition is not singing before breakfast
or you'll cry before dinner. Blue's her fa-
vorite color. She likes jewelry, but forgets
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to put it on. Her real passion's perfume —
the wickeder, the better.
There are two types of people she can
get along without— (1) athletic, (2) sweet-
and-lovely. On vacations, the athletics get
you up at 6 AM and say, "Let's go riding."
No sooner are you back than they say,
"Let's go swimming." She'd rather lie in
and sun and bake. The sweet-and-lovelies
she doesn't trust. They mostly turn out to
be terrible characters.
The first time she steps out with a new
dancing partner, she gets stiff and em-
barrassed. Till she's sure she can follow,
no matter how madly he whips round the
floor, then it's wonderful. She doesn't hate
night clubs. Because you can't be normal
and 17 and hate night clubs. Diana's not
blase, and hopes she never will be. Night
clubs are beautiful, and they're fun. She's
not permitted to drink, and doesn't think
she would if she were.
She's a sucker for tear-jerkers and good
musicals — never misses Ingrid Bergman or
Vivien Leigh or Judy Garland— her folks
don't flatter her about her own pictures.
Two years ago they built a house in
View Park. It's Mother and Dad's house,
not Diana's — much closer to Dad's work
with an oil supply company than it is to
the studio. She's the daughter in her
parents' house, same as she's always been.
That's how they wanted it. She con-
tributes something toward upkeep — which
is only fair — and buys her own clothes.
That's all. Fifty percent of her earnings
go straight into War Bonds.
Say, now that dream's talking!
A XMAS SHE'LL NEVER FORGET
(Continued from page 25)
forgetting all about it for the minute. But
there it was, poking out from under the
pillow and making a liar of her.
Auntie didn't say a word, just looked at
her as if she were terribly disappointed.
June felt so ashamed. Auntie just said:
Tm sorry, June. I'm afraid your mother'll
have to know about this," and went out
with the picture.
It wasn't that June minded Mother's
knowing. But suddenly she felt that she
had to tell her herself. She could tell
Mother anything. She could explain how
it happened. The words wouldn't choke
her. Loneliness for Mother rose and en-
gulfed her, dissolved the lump in her
throat to blinding tears. "I want my
mother," she sobbed, fumbling with but-
tons, wiping her eyes clear with the back
of her hand — "I have to find my mother."
June rubbed her aching eyes. It certainly
didn't pay to be bad. All it got you was
misery. The way she felt now reminded
her of that other awful time when she
stole ten cents. Mostly she hated thinking
about it, shoved the memory deep down to
the bottom of her mind. Now it gave her
| comfort to remember how darling Mother
i had been —
It happened soon after Christmas. Less
than a year ago, but it seemed like ages
because everything had changed so. The
dime had been sitting on the dresser for
three days. Every morning June was given
her lunch money — enough for milk and a
sandwich. The other kids always had
candy money too, but not June. Mother
couldn't afford it. She didn't make much,
I working on those printing machines. June
had promised never to spend her money
|j for candy —
But, golly, how her mouth watered!
Standing on line, watching the other kids
buy it, she thought sometimes she'd die if
she couldn't have a piece of candy. And
suddenly, there sat the dime on the dresser.
Of course it wasn't hers, and of course she
wouldn't take it. Next day it was still
there. Maybe it didn't belong to anyone,
maybe it was an orphan that nobody
jj wanted. June's hand went out and drew
back again, shocked. Of course she could
ask whose dime it was. But as long as she
l| didn't ask, there was still a chance —
At school next day she kept praying that
the dime would be gone — so she could stop
thinking about it, stop seeing visions of
chocolate and licorice sticks. But when
she got home, the dime was still there,
glittering. For a moment she stood irres-
i olute —
"I'll take it and pay it back," she thought,
Jknowing perfectly well that there wasn't
jany place in the whole wide world where
she could get ten cents. But she took it
anyway, and bought candy— the kind you
got ten for a penny— and it tasted so good
and made her so miserable that she wanted
to go off somewhere and howl like a wolf.
Between candy and wretchedness, she
couldn't eat supper. Granny didn't mention
the dime, so it must have been Mother's.
Mother wasn't home yet. She never got
home till late, and Granny kept her supper
hot. June went in and sat down on the bed.
After a while, Mother came in.
"What's wrong, honey?"
"Nothing—"
"Want to go for a walk?"
But June didn't want to go walking
tonight. "Feel sick, baby?" June shook
her head. "Well, never mind. When you're
ready to tell me about it, you can — "
"Mummy, mummy," she wailed, and the
arms came round and held her, and the
hand stroked her hair back from her damp
forehead, and the story came out —
"All right, Junie, stop crying now.
There's no sense in my telling you it was
wrong, because you know it yourself. And
you won't do it again — "
"But I can't pay you back, mummy — "
Suddenly, the tearstreaked face lifted, and
a brilliant idea washed out half its woe.
She slipped off the bed and opened the
dresser drawer, where her white silk blouse
still lay in its tissue paper. "I haven't worn
it yet, mummy. Maybe they'll give you the
money back."
For one horrified moment, she thought
Mother was going to cry. But June must
have been mistaken. Because her face
smoothed out, and she said, "Keep it—"
"I don't want to keep it. It wouldn't
even make me feel good any more to have
it — "
"All right, here's what we'll do. I'll keep
it till you've done something special, then
I'll give it you as a present all over again — "
She thought nothing could ever make
her feel worse than that dime. Till one
day when the whole world went black —
Coming home from school that day.
Thinking how nice to have Mother home,
only wishing it were for a different reason.
Granny'd gone to the hospital for two
weeks with a bad leg, and June had been
marking the days off on the calendar.
Marking Granny home and Mother away.
Why couldn't she have them both, the way
other girls did — ?
The kid from next door came down the
street. "Your grandmother's dead—"
June stood still for a moment. What a
horrible thing to say! Of course it wasn't
true, but how could anyone tell such a
horrible lie! She kept looking at the kid,
who started backing away. June's heart,
that had seemed to stop, started pounding.
It couldn't be true. She flew toward the
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house. Mother opened the door, and she
saw the truth written in Mother's face-
All that day and next, June stayed in
her room with the door locked. They
rattled the knob, they begged her to come
out. Once she heard Mother's voice—
Someone said, "But you've got to get the
child out. She hasn't had a mouthful of
food since yesterday — "
Mother said, "Evidently she needs to be
alone more than she needs food."
You never had to tell Mother anything.
She knew without telling. It was as though
June weren't a girl any more, but just one
big hurt. Never to hear Granny laugh
again, never to see her — that was the awful
thought she couldn't bear. It lurked like
some monster, ready to claw her apart. She
lay there, trying with all her might to
shut out the monster
She'd never said Granny's name to any-
one since— not even to Mother. She'd never
stopped being lonely inside. If she could
have lived with Mother, it might have been
different. Not that she didn't like Auntie
and the girls— she just couldn't be happy,
not living with Mother. She'd even been
mean about it at first. Did being un-
happy make people mean? she wondered.
"Darling," Mother had said, "I can't afford
to pay someone to stay with you."
"I don't need to be stayed with. I'm
eleven years old. I'll just wait there till
you get home from work — "
"But I'd worry, Junie. I'd sit there all
day and worry, and you wouldn't want
that. It'll be lovely at Auntie's. You'll
have fun with the girls, and you'll be help-
ing me. I've got to know you're safe — "
They'd been over and over the argument,
and June had lost. She wasn't very nice
about. On the train to Long Island, she cut
Mother pretty short —
"Oh, I'll be all right, don't worry about
me, I'll be fine — "
She said good by very coldly. "Well,
g'by," she said, just like that. Mother'd
hurt her, so she wanted to hurt back. And
the minute the door closed, she'd have
given anything just to be in Mother's arms.
It taught her a lesson that lots of people
don't learn till they're much older. Turn-
ing her soaked pillow that night, she
thought: "When you hurt somebody you
love, you're just hurting yourself."
She looked out the window. Still teem-
ing. Getting darker and darker, too. Well,
never mind. It didn't matter now. She
knew what she had to do. Go back.
Mother certainly wouldn't like her acting
this way. Neither would Granny —
Besides, it was mostly her own fault.
Auntie'd always been kind. But June had
come with a chip on her shoulder that
never quite fell off. Guessed she was
jealous, too. The girls— all three of them—
were pretty and cute and popular with the
boys. June was little and skinny and no
boy ever looked at her twice. She had to
be something, so she studied like mad, and
was very smart in school. Which made her
stuck up. She was nobody's angel —
But mostly, it was missing Mother. Miss-
ing Mother was like a stone inside her
heart —
As the small drenched figure dragged
itself back up the steps, the door opened—
"Mummy, Mummy, how did you get
here?"
"Auntie phoned me at the plant. She was
worried — "
"Oh, Mummy, I didn't mean to be bad — "
"I know, darling. Auntie understands too.
We've decided a girl needs her mother more
than anything else. So I'm taking you
home with me — "
They went home that night because
Mother had to work next day. Home to the
little cold-water flat — one room and a
kitchen— but it looked like heaven. The
room has a sofa and a pull-out bed. Mother
wanted June to take the bed, but she said ]
nothing doing. "I won't sleep anyhow. |
I'm too bursting with happiness." Next 1
thing she knew, the sun was waking her
up. The neighbors were lovely. "Don't \
worry," they told Mother. "We'll look after |
her till you get home." As if she needed
looking after— a great girl of twelve-
Four o'clock. Mother'd be home soon—
they got off early Christmas Eve. June
opened the . oven door and took out the
cake. It didn't look so hot —
The cake was her Christmas gift to
Mother. She got the idea out of a mag-
azine. "YOUR MOTHER'S ALWAYS
BAKING YOU COOKIES," said the ad.
"WHY DON'T YOU MAKE HER SOME
CHRISTMAS COOKIES FOR Aj
CHANGE?"
"A cake!" thought June. "That's what
I'll bake her—"
She got the recipe from a cookbook, and
the ingredients from a neighbor lady. The
lady had offered to lend her some money
for a present, but June had been taught
never to borrow money. Ingredients were
different.
She'd done everything the book said-
stuck straw in the cake and walked gently,
so it wouldn't fall. But it fell anyhow.
Never mind, Mother'd like it anyway.
She got the matchbox out, lighted the
matches, burned them down to the end,
and arranged them on the cake to read
"MERRY CHRISTMAS." Some of them
crumpled, but the effect was okay — espe-
cially if you didn't stand too close.
Mother made a great fuss over the cake
— even cried a little. She'd brought home
a tiny table-tree. They didn't have any
balls to tie on, but it looked nice with the
cake sitting under it, and June's present
all done up in Christmas ribbons.
They had supper, with the cake between
them. "May I help you to some of this
delicious dessert?" asked Mother.
"Who do you think you're kidding?"
crowed June.
After supper, she opened her present.
A beautiful pink hair-bow! "Gollyj"
breathed June in front of the mirror. "I'q
almost look pretty— if I had another face."
"Your face suits me." That's wha"
Mother always said.
Now Mother was in the big chair, June
on a hassock at her feet. The lights wer
out, and Granny's little radio was playin
Christmas carols. _
Last year Granny'd been listening with
them. And suddenly it came to June thaA
for the first time since Granny'd died, i
was easy to think about her. Not only
easy, but sweet. Against Mother's knee
June whispered: "That's Granny's favor-
ite carol. D'you think maybe she's here
listening with us?"
"Could be," said Mother. "Especially
you don't keep her out, Junie."
She looked up, wondering. "How do you
mean, keep her out?"
"By not talking or thinking about hei
Remember how she loved you, dear, in
stead of trying to forget, and she'll alway
be close."
The room was quiet for a long tiim
after that. Till June laid her cheek
against her mother's hand. "You just gave
me the loveliest Christmas present," she
said. "Better than a million hair-bows."
June's looking forward to Christmas of
'45. She's saving to buy her mother a
mink coat, and by then she'll have enough.
"Let's take a walk," she'll say, am*
Mother'll go to the closet for her coa
She'll probably stand in the closet, cry
ing, and June'll have to go in for her.
"Come on, Mummy," she'll say. "We're
not sticking this cake in the garbage can."
and there'll be the mink with a big sign
on it in matchsticks: "MERRY CHRIST^
MAS TO MUMMY."
h.
i
"IF HE WERE SINGLE . . !"
(Continued from page 44)
else, they knew Hopper. So when Walter
got in, he called me.
"You're an answer to a prayer," I told
him. "I'm about to throw a housewarming.
Will you come and sing?"
"What time?"
"Well, the invitations read from four to
four."
In New York we'd been agreeable, but
rather casual, acquaintances. Before that
party was over, we became firm friends.
He had two qualities that never fail to
bowl me over — generosity and a divine
sense of humor. The generosity came
through in his singing. His voice was then
at its beautiful best, and nothing was too
much. "Just tell me when to begin and
when to stop." At 4: 30 p.m. he was singing,
and at 3:30 in the morning he sang "Good-
by."
So Walter became one of the gang, and
his marriage to Ruth made everything
perfect. On the subject of Ruth Pidgeon,
I'm likely to go off the deep end. She's
one of those rare people who combine
sweetness and strength in just the right
balance. I doubt if any woman in Holly-
wood's better loved. Walter himself
summed it up when he said: "If you're not
crazy about Ruth, you're crazy."
The funniest thing was the way she
refurnished the house, piece by piece. Like
most men, Walter has a mania for durable
stuff. If it wears like iron, it's beautiful.
Unless it's made to outlive him, it's junk.
So you can imagine the effect — heavy, solid,
dark — not to say depressing.
he'll never forget . . .
Well, Ruth's a tactful person. Instead of
making a clean sweep, she'd kind of sneak
up on him every once in a while with a
chiirz-covered chair or a lovely antique.
At first he squawked. Then he began to
like it. But her great triumph came when
he kindly allowed her to re-cover the
davenport that's the light of his life. Made
to order it was, long enough for him to
stretch out on and covered with something
guaranteed through eternity. But don't
think the original fabric isn't still there,
under the chintz. "We may go broke some
day," says he, "and be glad to have it."
Actually, he's sentimental about it be-
cause it's served him well. He'd no more
get rid of it than he would of an old dog.
Loyal, that's Walter. He's lived in the same
house for fifteen years. Keeps the same
friends. Goes round about once a week
to pay his respects to Elsie Janis, who
doesn't get out much. Sits in the garden
and regales her with the town gossip.
When Walter says, "I'm the luckiest
guy in the world," he means just that.
When he says, "Except for the breaks,
I'd be a floorwalker at Bullock's," he's not
being smart or trying to make an im-
pression. He'll say it not only to you, but
to Louis B. Mayer.
For instance, he didn't want to play
Parkington. "It needs an actor," he told
L. B. "Someone dynamic and vital like
Ward Bond. I've never acted anything. I
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feel a part, and it plays itself—
"What about Curie?"
"Same thing. I felt it. This I don t feel.
I don't want to gum up a swell script with
a phony performance."
It was Tay Garnett who convinced him.
Put him into period clothes and fixed him
up with a moustache. Made him look like
Parkington, so he could feel like him.
in the kitchen with dagmar . . .
His charm of manner's inbred. He has
the faculty of making every woman feel
she's a queen. I had a Swedish cook whom
he treated with the same courtesy as he
treated me. Never did he eat a meal at my
house without going to the kitchen to com-
pliment Dagmar on her cooking And Dag-
mar worshipped him. If anyone had taken
a crack at Walter in her hearing, I believe
she'd have knocked him down. Whenever
we gave a party, Dagmar'd ask, Is Mr.
Pidgeon coming?" I'd say no, and her lace
would fall. I'd say yes, and she'd get busy
fixing date-and-nut bread sandwiches,
spread with sweet butter and cream cheese.
The minute Walter arrived, Dagmar d bring
him this plate, and he'd clean it. Didnt
dare pass it around, she'd have been heart-
broken. If any of my other guests liked
date-and-nut sandwiches, they were just
out of luck.
Ruth loathes cooking and makes no bones
about it. She'd rather wash dishes for
twenty than cook for two. Like everyone
else, they've been having help trouble
Ruth'll mop floors and scrub bathrooms till
she drops, if only Walter'll take her out to
dinner. By the same token, it's he who
hires the cook. ,
He's a crank about food, especially soups
and desserts, so his hiring routine goes
something like this. "Can you make good
soups? Good lemon tarts? Crepes suzette?
Chocolate souffle?" The man says yes, and
he's hired. After four or five days, they
discover he doesn't know crepes suzette
from flannel-cakes, so Walter tells him
good-by and starts all over again.
He drinks nothing but wine, and on wines
he's a connoisseur. Thinks all this to-do
about imported stuff is nonsense. Get
Walter started on the subject of California
wines, and you've got a poet. We were
having supper there one night. The food
was served on bridge tables, and Walter
was circulating among his guests.
Sir Charles Mendl took a sip of bur-
gundy. "Hmmm. Putting on the dog just
a bit, aren't you, Walter?"
"Nothing's too good for my friends, says
Pidgeon.
"Where in the wide world do you get
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this kind of precious stuff in wartime?"
"Oh— just a little thing I picked up," says
Pidgeon.
He got us good and steamed up, then
dropped his little bomb. "It's a California
wine Put up by the Simi Wineries. Twelve
dollars a case." That left us just where he
wanted us— with our jaws down.
Then nothing would do but each of us
must take a bottle home. He's got a special
gift for giving— makes you feel as if you
were doing him the favor. And I dont
believe he's ever presented a gift that he
hasn't shopped for himself. "Doesn't mean
much," he says, "if your secretary picks it,
and all you do is sign the check. If he s
on a picture, he goes shopping Thursday
nights when the stores are open. I know it
took him months last year to track down
a set of Mason's Ironware dinner plates tor
Ruth. This year he gave her a gorgeous
ruby ring, and that's a funny story.
He couldn't make up his mind as between
two of them, so he brought them home and
showed them to her. "I want to give Pidge
a ring for Christmas. Which do you like
best?"
"This one," she said. "There s no com-
parison." A few days later she asked him
which he'd bought. He told her the other
one. „ j
"Well, what's the use of asking my ad-
vice, if you don't take it?"
That gave the whole thing an extra bang
for Walter— watching her face as she
opened the box on her birthday and found
the ring she'd picked. That's all the bang
he wants. Hates to be thanked. When Ruth
showed me the ring, he got embarrassed,
tried to hide behind a crack. "Only trouble
with giving your- wife jewelry, you have to
insure it, and she knows how much m
costs."
For reasons not clear to me, people think
of Walter as a man-about-town. Because
he looks the part, I suppose. Actually, if
he stuck any closer to home, you d have to
pry him loose. He's an easy man to have
round the house. Never loses his temper,
says Ruth, except with himself. I was on
the phone one day, when his voice came
through, clear as a bell. "You stupid
so-and-so — !"
"Who's he talking to?" I asked.
"Himself. Second time this morning he
tripped over the telephone cord."
The garden's come to be a mania with
him. Don't get started on gardens with
Pidgeon unless you really care.
It was Ruth who got him interested, but
she's satisfied now to leave him holding the
bag. Except when he starts out with a saw
or a pair of clippers. Then she hangs
around. ,
And if you want to know why he s limp-
ing right now, ask Hopper. I was there,
sunning myself on the lawn with Ruth
Walter'd climbed the big orange tree to
pick fruit off the top branches, when he
struck a beehive. You should have seen
him— our dignified Professor Curie— doing
the fastest slide down that tree in his
garden shorts, rolling over on the grass
then hobbling in to phone his mother.
"What in thunder did we use that time
I got stung by wasps?"
"Soda-paste "
In no minutes flat, Ruth and I were in
the kitchen, mixing soda-paste. That was
two weeks ago, and he's still limping.
Between pictures, he's in that garden all
day long, except for a fast game of tennis
at noon. Golf bores him to tears. What
he likes is to play hard for an hour and a
half, take a shower and forget it. If hes
not in the garden, you'll find him m the
patio, shining the family's shoes. Oh sure,
they can afford to have their shoes shined,
but look what Walter would miss. He'd
rather handle leather than diamonds.
"Nothing's more beautiful," moons Walter,
"than a riding boot. Dark mahogany where
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the sweat comes off the horse, blending
into light. Well, he can't ride now— not
having the gas to get to Griffith Park— so
his boots stand in the closet, and he shines
shoes instead. His own take longest. He's
got the biggest feet in the world, outside
my son's. Bill's 6'4, and very conscious
of his feet.
"Tell him not to be," says Walter. "When
he's full grown, they'll shrink."
"If he's not full grown at 6'4, God help
him. Anyway, what do you mean, they'll
shrink?"
"The boy needs encouragement, doesn't
he? Just tell him they'll shrink."
He and Ruth spend nine out of ten eve-
nings reading or playing backgammon.
However, if you do want to get Walter
out, promise him music. Especially vocal
music. He won't sing any more himself,
except in the bathtub or for a few friends.
But to hear good singing, he'll turn out in
the middle of the night.
That's what happened one evening. I'd
gone to a concert with them. Walter was
driving me home, but we stopped at their
house to drop Ruth, who was feeling tired.
On the phone pad was a message from
Irene Manning. "We're having some won-
derful music. Come on over."
Ruth, being tired, decided she wouldn't.
Me, I'm always ready to go. Irene's house
was in one of those hillside hideouts, that
THE SKY'S THE LIMIT
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you can't unearth in the daytime without
a road map, much less at night. It was after
one before we found it. As we started up
the steps, we heard this singing.
Walter stopped in his tracks. "For the
love of Mike! Did we come out to hear
gramophone records?"
"What makes you think it's a record?"
"Because I've heard every tenor since
1910 but Caruso, and there is no such voice
outside a gramophone record."
Well, we went on in, and the voice was
coming from a throat. Walter looked dazed
for a second. After that, nothing mattered
but what he was listening to.
Later, we met the young man. Mario
Lanza, 23, an Army corporal. He'd debuted
with Koussevitzky at the Berkshire festival
before entering the service. Walter couldn't
keep his eyes off the kid.
"Will he sing again?"
"Give him a break He's just finished four
songs."
"I'll hang around all night if there's any
chance of hearing him again — "
We hung around till 4:30 and got our
money's worth — three big arias, including
"Pagliacci," and a little song of Tosti's to
wind up with. I've never seen Walter so
excited. All the way back to my house, he
kept on raving. "Most beautiful bel canto
I've ever heard — that dark velvety luscious -
ness — that terrific color — did you hear him
soar up to B natural, and come down?
— Mark my words, Hedda, there's going to
be the great tenor of the century."
That's been going on ever since. To
anyone who'll listen.
One thing he's bad about — names. Can't
remember them to save his life, so he's
given up trying. Calls all the boys Joe, and
all the girls Darling. They reciprocate. I've
even seen his name on a studio call-sheet
as Joe. "Joe Pidgeon. 8 o'clock in Make-
up." I've never seen him written down yet
as Darling Pidgeon But he's that, too
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M. S. FASHION GUIDE
{Continued from page 47)
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contrasUabric-velveteen in beige or slate
Hue . . Pink and black striped satm . . .
or a pin-check taffeta. You make it just
the Jay you did your first apron m sixth
gradl You wear it lots of ways. Peplum
in front, just as you'd expect Asa side
drape, with bow over your right hip. As
a bustle with the bow flat m front.
Speaking of aprons, those hostess jobs
are anothir way of pepping up a world-
weary dress. Have a whole routine of
'em, but not in apron-ish fabrics. Try the
flash of metallic cloth . . . or the shock
effect of emerald green or fuchsia taffeta,
demurely edged with black rick-rack bguL
Why, you're just geting started. Think
of the things you can pull with chiffon
scarfs-one twisted. through your curls the
other held by a pin at your f^-°on£
Look into the possibilities of metal or
jewel-studded belts and Carmen Miranda
sashes in Latin-country colors.
Try a stole (that's nothing but an over-
grown scarf) of gold-color crepe faced with
deepest wine ... or printed crepe with
S-color taffeta. Just drape around your
sWders and use the belt of your dress
to keep it within bounds at the waist me
To be veddy veddy somethin'-have it long
enough to reach the hemline of your dress.
Hems to give you height that way.
Haven't even mentioned the tricks to be
done with extra white and pastel collars
and dkkies. You learned all about that m
kindergarten and are probably miles ahead
of me this minute.
WHAT BOOKS DO YOV WANT?
W^ote^lowest market^rice^ J» c^r^for
SEARCHLIGHT BOOK HOME
9J East nth New York City
If you want to know how to track down
the fashions I've mentioned-or have a
special clothes problem that's been haunt-
inTyou-iust pop a letter or postcard m
ihe mail-box, and I'll answer quick as an
tclo MarjoUe Bailey, Modern Screen,
149 Madison Avenue, New York lb.
MOVIE FANS-
you've done it before
NOW DO IT AGAIN!
You came across beautifully—
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Now— the Smashing 6th War
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_SKIH
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AMD SOAP
I SAW IT HAPPEN
To my way of thinking, Vera Vague
is, besides being a ^nderful person
one of Hollywood's best "ad libbers.
Zen without a script Vera « never
nt a loss for words and can pull a gag
out of the air faster than any other
comedienne I've ever heard.
Recently, while she was giving a
performance at an Army Camj >, a horn
sounded. Vera inquired ohoutjL
When a G.I. told her it was a bugle,
she exclaimed, "Oh, I just adore
bugles! In fact, I love anything that
makes a man pucker his lips!
Mrs. E. E. Mart, Jr.
Providence, R. I.
SMASHING
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YOUR FAVORITE STARS
OF 1944
(Continued from page 37)
Farley Granger, Bill Eythe, Dick Jaeckel,
Gloria De Haven, June Allyson, Jeanne
Crain. I don't know whether it's judgment
or instinct you use, but if you could bottle
it, you could name your own figure.
I wonder if you realize how important
your poll is to Hollywood. How studios
watch for their stars to appear on it. How
the stars themselves glow when they're
told they've made it. Sonny Tufts, for
one, phoned his sister, "I'm on the poll."
Being nonprofessional, she didn't know
what he was talking about. "The Gallup
Poll?" she asked, bewildered.
"No. The Modern Screen Poll. That's
more important to me."
And when Al Delacorte was out in Holly-
wood, he made a solid hit with everyone.
Sue and Alan Ladd threw a poll party for
him. Very few people who weren't on the
Modern Screen Poll were invited. This is
the first time in the history of Hollywood
that guests were chosen by the readers of
a magazine.
I have been happy that through this
Modern Screen Poll, Ronald Reagan, who's
been off the screen for two and a half years,
has been kept among the top ten. That
knowledge is priceless to him, to us who
are his friends, and to his studio.
I asked Al Delacorte to give me the
names of the ten top stars of the year who
were selected by the poll because I am so
interested in the way it works. Here they
are — winners of '44 in order of popularity.
1. Frank Sinatra
2. Alan Ladd
3. Pvt. Lon McCallister
4. Van Johnson
5. Betty Grable
6. Capt. Ronald Reagan
7. Lana Turner
8. Gene Kelly
9. Shirley Temple
10. John Payne
I then asked the studios to dig up the
preview cards for the first pictures these
stars had made. In every case the cards
upheld your judgment. Just for the record
I picked out some of the comments. You
can read them here, under the pictures of
your favorites and give yourselves a pat
on the back.
So keep it up, FANS, and a Happy New
Year to you all.
P. S. Turn to page 16 for complete 1944
poll listing.
JOURNEY AMONG WARRIORS
(Continued from page 49)
he did on the champagne itself.
The only disappointed Garfield was
Katherine — whom they call Pigeon. Right
along she'd been pleading, "Can't you ar-
range it so we have a brother and a sister?"
All they brought home was a brother, and
he was funny-looking —
"Not much of a present," was her candid
comment. "He's not even tied up with
pretty pink ribbons."
Ever since he'd toured the Caribbeans
three months before Pearl Harbor, John
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i
had been wanting to go overseas with an
entertainment unit. Robbie was all for it.
So, with David safely launched, Be-
tween Two Worlds" and a Bond tour out
of the way and the Hollywood Canteen
going strong, John set out. En route to
the greater adventure, he stopped m Wash-
ington for the President's birthday ball. >
Waiting on line to be introduced, John's
pulses pounded. "Little East Side boy,
he kept thinking, "going to meet the
President." Because, whichever way you
slice your political leanings, it remains a
thrill. , „
Now it was his turn. "John Garfield—
"Hear you're going overseas," said the
President.
"Yes, Mr. President."
"Well, I hope you have as good a time
as I did."
John was so dazed with excitement that
he started shaking hands with the butlers.
But there was more to come. He had to
leave almost directly after lunch to catch
his train to New York. He couldn't bear
to go without seeing the Lincoln room—
"It's the President's study," said Mr.
Roosevelt's daughter-in-law, "so I'm not
sure we can get in. But let's try." _
She knocked at the door. "Come m,
said a voice, and there he sat, cigarette
holder in mouth, opening birthday gifts.
"Come in, John."
big talk . . .
He couldn't budge. The daughter-in-law
gave him a gentle shove, closed the door
behind him, and there he stood— alone
with the President of the United States.
For fifteen minutes they talked about Lin-
coln. John doesn't know how he got to
New York unless he floated there-
of his three and a half months with our
troops in Italy, he could write a book.
But the highlights were these—
Flying the North Atlantic at night. Sit-
ting in the co-pilot's seat, learning about
the instruments, being allowed to hold the
wheel. Alone — because in spite of the
others, you feel alone — with the stars over
you and nothing between you and the sea
below but this man-made machine that had
once seemed so huge, that's dwarfed now
by the immensity of space, yet is winging
its way confidently toward some unknown
dot on the other side of the world. It's a
miracle.
Living with the GIs. Dressing like them.
Trying to be one of them. Telling them
about home— the only thing they want to
hear. Playing to front line soldiers. Their
hunger for entertainment— their response
out of all proportion to what you can do
for them, so you want to climb a hill and
yell all the way back to Hollywood, "Send
more, send more!" The sense of their deep
comradeship, wrought out of what they've
been through together, wordless but un-
mistakable and beautiful— so beautiful
that you want to cry out, "Why^ does it
take war to make men brothers?"
A GI on "Stars and Stripes" knew a
Jugoslav colonel who said his people were
begging for some kind of American show.
Would John do one for them? And how!
Hundreds of Jugoslavs— the place is a
military secret— sitting through his per-
formance with an interpreter. Only, for
the movie names, they needed no inter-
preter. Every time he mentioned a Holly-
wood personality, they clapped like crazy.
Then they got up on the stage, and danced
their folk dances for him. And gave him
something he'll always guard like his right
eye. A gun captured from the Germans —
Eddie Foy. John and Eddie worked to-
gether. John had never known anyone like
Eddie. A regular guy who was deeply
religious, whose faith was like a rock.
Every night the Nazis came over and
bombed Naples. They'd sleep through
92 the ack-ack, hear the first siren, get out at
the second. Ask Eddie if he was scared,
and he'd always say yes. But he didn t
show it. John showed it-
One night a colonel, in helmet and bath-
robe, asked for a match.
"You scared?" Eddie whispered to John.
"Damn right I'm scared."
Eddie chuckled. "Look at this guy. He s
a colonel. Asks for a match, and no cigar-
ette in his mouth. We're only hams. We
got a right to be scared — "
Bombs or no bombs, sleep or no sleep,
Eddie would be up early next morning,
hunting for some little church where he
could hear mass.
Robbie and Katherine were at the sta-
tion. John was carrying a huge doll. Not
till he got to New York, did he realize that
he hadn't brought anything for Katherine.
That was unheard of.
It was Sunday in New York, and the
shops were closed. But there was a big
doll in the window at Longchamps where
he went to dinner. White and shaking
as the train pulled in, Katherine made
a dash for him, flung herself into his
arms and cried as if her heart would
break. Eventually she accepted the doll
with pleasure, but refused to let go of
father's hand all day.
David was waiting at home. If you
could call it waiting. John turned to
Robbie, his face a mile long. "He doesn't
even know who I am — "
"Don't hold it against him. Would you
have known him if you'd met him walking
down the street?"
That first week, he spent most of his time
on the phone. He'd met hundreds of boys
in Europe and brought dozens of messages
back to their families. He knew how
those guys felt who hadn't seen their
people in many times four months — and
didn't know when they would.
He'd returned, expecting to go into the
Army. Re-classified 1-A while in Europe,
he went down for his physical, bragging
that he'd pass 100%. He did, too. They
figured out a budget which would keep
the family going for the duration.
"At least we've got a long lease on the
house," said John.
A few days later, some men appeared
and started moving furniture out of the
house. Court order. It seemed the owners
had separated. Husband got the house,
wife got the furniture.
The Garfields were caught in the mid-
dle—in the middle of the housing shortage
as well. Every morning John went hunt-
ing. Each evening he returned downcast.
One day a rumor reached him that Bill
Haines was anxious to get rid of his place.
Ten minutes later John was on Haines's
doorstep. Yes, he'd heard correctly— only
Bill wanted to sell, not rent.
1
tongue in cheek guy
It was a beautiful house, but they didn't
want to buy. Deadlock. John gazed at Bill
pleadingly. "I've got to get my family
settled, before I'm called." In the end, Bill
couldn't stand John's mournful eyes. He
agreed to a 3-year lease. As it turns out,
John's living there, too. When the Army's
new age rulings took effect, he was auto-
matically reclassified.
At sight of their new bedroom, Robbie
broke into giggles. "The bed's bigger than
our whole apartment when we were first
married!" That's one thing about the Gar-
fields. They'll never be smug. Time was
when Johnny'd refuse to ring for the maid.
"Why should I? Does she ring for me
when she wants me?"
Recently he wandered into the kitchen,
where Luther was helping Ida May iron—
"Good boy, Luther. I used to iron sheets
for my wife — " ()
"Tell him how you ironed them.
"She'd fold 'em and I'd sit on 'em.'
It wasn't altogether a question of what
they could afford. Because when Kather-
ine was born, Johnny was doing all right.
But Robbie got a bee in her bonnet—
"Look, Julie—" She still calls him by
his pre-Hollywood name. "Look, most
people take care of their own babies.
Let's let the nurse go and take care of
ours. Just to prove that we can." So
for three months, John would get up at
6 to feed and change the baby before
leaving for the studio. Then Robbie took
over. When they'd proved they didn't need
a nurse, they got one.
"Look at the life we lead," grins John.
"It's a racket. That's why I want Kath-
erine to be an actress."
Katherine prefers dancing. She's unimr
pressed by the fact that her Daddy's an
actor— thinks everybody's daddy does the
same thing. Not till he went abroad did
she see him in a picture. Robbie doesn't
believe in too many movies for six-year-
olds. But after John left, she got what
she calls a funny feeling. She wanted to
see him, and she wanted Katherine to see
him with her —
"Destination Tokyo" was the only one
playing. "Your daddy's in it," she told
Katherine, "but that's a big secret between
you and me. When you see him, you
mustn't make a noise and disturb people—"
Still, she was a little nervous. As John's
face flashed on the screen, she turned to
see how her daughter was taking it. Kath-
erine had clapped her palm over her mouth
and was waving like mad. After a while,
Robbie felt a tug at her arm.
"Daddy's getting so wet. Why don't they
give him a raincoat? He might catch cold."
On the whole, she didn't care for the
picture. No dancing. "I'd rather see Gene
Kelly." Kelly's a friend of the Garfields,
and Katherine's not-so-secret passion.
John's just signed a new contract with
Warners'. He's just finished "Hollywood
Canteen," playing his real-life role of exec-
utive vice-president. But the big bang
came out of knowing that 40% of the gross
would go into postwar rehabilitation.
Right now he's working in "Nobody
Lives Forever." Most of his non-working
hours are spent at meetings— Victory Com-
mittee, Screen Actors Guild, Canteen. He
operates on the theory that if a things
worth giving your name to, it's worth your
time and effort and enthusiasm.
For relaxation, he plays tennis. He likes
to take Katherine along to lunch at the
club and watch the playing. One day she
got excited and rather noisy, and an irri
tated player told her to shut up. She has
her father's spirit. "I'll be glad to keep
quiet, but didn't your mother tell you
that it's not nice to say shut up?"
On rare evenings out, John and Robbn
go to the Beachcombers— because it re
minds them of New York— then to a con-
cert or movie. But mostly they dine at
home. John'll eat anything, as long as its
cooked with garlic. His favorite Sunday
breakfast is lox (smoked salmon) and
bagel. A handy man to have around th<
house— puts the children to bed and driei
dishes on maid's night out —
When they're alone, they read or listen
to records. The radio's tuned on only foi
news. As a rule, they're not alone long
People drop in, and the refrigerator's al
ways stocked.
After the war, they plan to build o:
buy a house in the valley. A small hous
with lots of ground. Ground enough fo:
trees and a pool and maybe a couple o
horses. Indoors, there'll be records anc
books and furniture you can put your feet
on. Oh yes, and more kids. Having one
of each gender now, they don't really ca
what the next three or four are. Essen
tially, all that matters to John and Robbi
Garfield is that the kids should grow up ii
a brave new world — free and democratic
Not only their kids, but everybody's.
ne
i;
in
. . is the Word!
DEANNA in TECHNICOLOR for the First Thrilling Time!
with the Miracle ^S^Melodies of JEROME KERN !
MP*
X NEW S<W6S/
and More", "Californ-i-ay"
Moment Now" . and others
in TECHNICOLOR
..ROBERT PAIGE
ARIM TAMIROFF
DAVID BRUCE LEONID RINSREY RAY COLLINS JUNE VINCENT ANDREW TOMBES THOMAS GOMEZ
Directed by FRANK RYAN Produced by FELIX JACKSON Assoc Producer FRANK SHAW
Musuby JEROME KERN v<« by E V HARBURG
Screen Ploy by LEWIS R. FOSTER and FRANK RYAN ■ Story by John Klorer and Leo lownsend . Based on "Girl of The Overland Trail" by Samuel J. and Curtis B Warshawsky ■ A UNIVERSAL PICTURE
JAN 11 19*5
Smoother Skin
with just One Cake
of Camay!
Tests by doctors prove—
Camay is really mild
Romantic new softness, fresher beauty,
for your skin— with just one cake of Camay!
Yes, lovelier skin comes as quickly as that,
when you give up careless methods and
go on the Camay Mild-Soap Diet. Doctors
tested this mild care on over 100
complexions— on skin like yours. And
with the very first cake of Camay, most
complexions simply bloomed— fresher
and clearer and lovelier!
... it cleanses without irritation
These tests are your proof of Camay's
mildness . . . your proof it can benefit the
skin. "Camay is really mild," confirmed
the doctors, "it cleansed without irritation."
So why don't you try this tested beauty
care . . . and see what striking
improvement just one cake of Camay
can bring to your skin!
... go on the
Camay Mild-Soap Diet
Take only one minute— each night and
morning. Cream that mild Camay lather
over your face— with special attention
to nose and chin. Rinse warm. Give
oily skin a final C-O-L-D splash. Start
tonight! And watch your skin take on
glorious new freshness, softer charm—
with just one cake of Camay!
Cherish Camay— precious war mate-
rials go into soap, so it's patriotic to
use the last sliver— every bit!
Mrs. Charles W. Diehl, Jr., Minneapolis
Lovely . . . gossamer wedding veil framing
her Camay complexion! "You'll find
exciting new beauty for your skin, too," she
confides, "with your very first cake of Camay"
A M AY
SIBL:Don't be stupid, Cupid. I adore dancing
with Junior! I only wish he were a little taller . . . older . . .
and not my brother!
CUPID: Well, then, how about helping me help you?
With a smile, for instance!
GIRL: Smile? Me? Plain old me? Look, Cupid: I'm
no beauty. And my smiling wouldn't help.
CUPID: Help? Heavens, Girl, look around you!
Beautiful girls aren't always the most popular. It's the girl
with the radiant smile who wins attention — and hearts!
Get busy, Girl! Smile! Sparkle!
GIRL: Sparkle? Pardon, Cupid. But with my
teeth, I couldn't even glow. I brush my teeth, but—
CUPID:— but you never do a thing about the
"pink" on your tooth brush! By gosh, Girl, there
ought to be a special sign for every girl in the country:
"Never Ignore 'Pink Tooth Brush'!"
Plain girl . . . that "pink" is a sign that you'd better
see your dentist right away. He may say that your
gums have become tender, robbed of exercise by
today's soft foods. And he may suggest, "the helpful
stimulation of Ipana Tooth Paste and massage."
i*- — j
Product of Bristol-Myers
IPANA and MASSAGE
GIRL: Yes. But we were talking about my smile,
Cupid. Not my gums.
CUPID: And that's just it* Ipana and massage
are designed to help your smile. Ipaha not only
cleans teeth. It is specially designed, with massage, to
help stimulate gums to healthier firmness. Massage
a little extra Ipana on your gums every time
you brush your teeth. You'll help yourself to
healthier gums, sounder, brighter teeth . . . and a
lovelier smile. And someone else to dance with!
Get started on Ipana and massage today, Child!
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4 *
Published in
this space
every month
The greatest
star of the
screen !
This is our 72nd column! Our 40 million
readers now know that we never rave
without reason.
★ ★ ★ ★
And, brethren and sistren, we're raving
about two new films coming around
the mountain of the New Year.
★ ★ ★ ★
First, there is "Thirty Seconds Over
Tokyo", the deeply moving dramatiza-
tion of Captain Ted Lawson's true
account of the surprise thrill of the
war— the first bombing of Tokyo by
those gallant men who took off from
Shangri-La!
Spencer Tracy turns in his most com-
manding performance as Lieutenant
Colonel "Jimmy" Doolittle; handsome
Van Johnson (did you read Life?) adds
to his laurels as Lawson; and Robert
("Hargrove") Walker is the dead-eye
gunner of their B-25 bomber, "The
Ruptured Duck."
★ ★ ★ ★
Lovely Phyllis Thaxter (a new dream)
plays Ellen, Lawson's bride, warming
the picture with a tender romantic note
that makes "Thirty Seconds Over
Tokyo" a truly magnificent story of
deep-abiding love and inspiring courage.
Then, M-G-M has forthcoming a gay,
gorgeous, grand and Techniglorious film
delight, "Meet Me In St. Louis." It
takes you back to the St. Louis Fair as
a guest of the Smiths, a family that
might be your own— if you have one.
★ ★ ★ . ★
Judy Garland is the
star— young, viva-
cious, golden-voiced
Judy— as the girl
just awakening to
love for the boy next
door. And with her,
as an impish, devil-
ish, utterly lovable
kid sister, is that
great artist, little
Margaret O'Brien.
★ ★ ★ ★
Happy-hearted, brimming with music
and the joy of living, '"Meet Me In St.
Louis" includes seven smash songs,
among them that bell-ringing success,
"Clang, Clang, Clang.Went theTrolley"
that you're hearing on the hit parade.
* * * * • „ ,
When you "Meet Me In St. Louis and
spend "Thirty Seconds Over Tokyo",
you'll get a good idea o f the great enter-
tainment to expect
from M-G-M all
through this Happy
New Year.
★ ★ ★ ★
Which, by the way,„
we've wished you.
—£ea
STORIES
* COLOR
PAGES
FEATURES
BEAUTY
FASHION
OEPTS.
modern screen
30
34
* SWEET AND LOVELY
But there's more to Jeanne Grain than peaches and cream. She s
the little gal who brought home the sausage!
* HAM FROM HAMTRAMCK
"You're probably still lousy. But come and see me anyway,' the
radio producer beckoned John Hodiak
"I ENVY CLAUDETTE . . ." by Hedda Hopper ,
Because she's wise and knows that Claudette Colbert, star, isnt
nearly so important as Mrs. Joel Pressman, wife! 38
DER BINGLE"
Crosby gave those overseas Gls everything he had; his faith, his
courage, his laughter— even his wildly whooping blue and yel-
low tie!
40
44
48
50
52
JENNY MADE HER MIND UP '
Jennifer Jones wanted fame, security, happiness. She thought
she'd found all three— or did she? 42
FRANKIE. WE LOVE YOU! t
This is your story, all you loyal, sincere fans about whom t rank:
Sinatra says, "You kids have made me what I am and 1 11 never
forget it!"
*STOP, LOOK AND WHISTLE! ' ' ,
We're off on a Technicolor visit to Deanna Durbm in her house
that music built!
*LOH McCALLISTER
In life story, part 11, he saw promises of security, fame, love-
impossible as they sometimes seemed— could and did come true . .
CINDERELLA BOY , ■«»],,
Apprentice Seaman Granger listed occupation actor and next
thing you know he was in the boot camp theater— behind a broom!
*BIG BAD WOLF , .
Helmut Dantine's nothing of the sort! What sort of preying can
you do in class, over a tennis net or across a chessboard."
GOLDEN GIRL , . . - , .
Louise Allbritton likes things to stay put: Jalopies without their
ruffles, inexhaustible bank accounts, her name in lights &«■
MARRIAGE IS STRICTLY OKAY! . ,
Dana Andrews fought against falling for a fat girl who wouldnt \
diet, but when he did and when she did, fcro-ther!
Jeanne Crain in 20th-Fox's "Winged Victory" 30
John Hodiak in 20th-Fox's "Sunday Dinner for a Soldier" 34
in M-G-M's "Anchors Aweigh" • 46
Can't Help Singing" 4*
Lon McCaSiister in 20th-Fox's "Winged Victory" 51
Helmut Dentine in Warner's "Hollywood Canteen" . . 54
Robert Walker in M-G-M' s "The Clock" 56
Editorial Page
Fashions in Fingertips
Modern Screen's Fashion Guide
Fannie Hurst Selects "Winged Victory"
Movie Reviews
Super Coupon
Good News by Louella Parsons
Whafs Cookin'. Kids?— Peggy Ryan
COVER- Jeanne Crain in 20th-Fox's "Winged Victory." Valentine courtesy
of Hallmark Cards
ALBERT P. DELACORTE, Executive Editor
HENRY P MALMGREEN. Editor
SYLVIA WALLACE. Hollywood Editor
KAY HARDY. Hollywood Promotion Manager
OTTO STORCH. Art Director
BILL WEINBERGER. Art Editor
GUS GALE. Photographer
Editorial Assistants: Charis Zeigler, Annette Bellinger, Mickey Ghidalia
Service Dept.: Ann Ward. Information Desk: Beverly Linet
Frank Sinatra
Deasina Durbin in Univ.'s
29
72
60
6
10
16
68
104
L^S{^rmT3^79etoeiS^ ?T iH^ "yoZ
Vol.30. No. 3, Feblrv, 1945 Copvri,^
FoTeign subscription $2.70 a year Entered as second class m^^^ San Francisco, Calif., Dallas
under Act of March 3, 1 879. Add itiona ' "^"^ .f^'orSSntv ^Ae return or unsolicited material. Names of
Trademark No. 301773.
6iMMow come
you- re
so cute?"
i€F had
to be— to get
such a
good-toohin
iellowl 99
The love story behind the greatest story of our time !
M-G-M has brought Captain Ted Lawson's book to
the screen ! True, thrilling, tremendous !
MERVYN LeROY PRODUCTION
VAN
ROBERT
Captain Ted W. Lawson,
author of "Thirty Seconds
Over Tokyo", was pilot of
"The Ruptured Duck", one of
the bombers that took off
from the "Hornet" at Shangri-
La and blasted Tokyo!
JOHNSON • WALKER
PHYLLIS THAXTER • TIM MURDOCK • SCOTT McKAY
GORDON McDONALD • DON DeFORE • ROBERT MITCHUM
JOHN R. REILLY • HORACE McNALLY and
SPENCER TRACY
as LIEUTENANT COLONEL JAMES H. DOOLITTLE
Screen Play by Dalton Trumbo • Based on the Book and Collier's Story by
Captain Ted W. Lawson and Robert Considine • Directed by MERVYN
LeROY • Produced by SAM ZIMBALIST • A Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer Picture
SELECTS "WINGED VICTORY"
■ Civilian, do " you know what makes your
Air Force tick? Have you any idea of the
baptisms-by-fire that create that trim young
Air pilot in his natty uniform whom you
just passed on the street, or to whom you
fed chocolate cake and coffee at the Canteen
last night? ,
Civilian, you are going to have a fair idea of
the crucible that molded this young airman
when you see "Winged Victory." It is going
to be packaged for you as an alive, entertain-
ing and skillfully conceived story.
But despite its many deft and diverting
touches, "Winged Victory" remains an out-
and-out war picture. Begot of war, its theme
is war, its implications are war, its thunderous
overtones are war.
The story opens quietly in what could be any
American town. This one happens to be Maple-
ton, Ohio. The girls and boys are any Ameri-
can girls and boys, the front lawns are any
American front lawns, the talk is that of the fel-
lows in the barbershops, in the banks and
garages, of regular American guys. Of their
pretty girls, frail in appearance, bendable but
unbreakable under pressure, the girls who typify
and beautify the American scene.
A group of young men in Mapleton, three to
be exact, are dreaming the American youths'
dream of the air. Wings are over Mapleton,
Ohio. Before the first roar of a plane is heard,
the faces of its young {Continued on page 8)
Frankie Davis (Lon McCallister) tells his wife, Janie (Jane Ba
joining the Air Force. Lonely, she follows him to camp where he crashes
on his first solo night flight and dies, never knowing he's to be a father.
Permanently Wise
gap* .^^Nwi^agy*
It's a smart gal who insists on the
best in a permanent — because she
has to live with it a long time.
The same applies to the Bob Pins
that keep it in line.
o,
DeLong 'Bob Pins are the perma-
nent answer.They have a Stronger Qrip
and an indestructible way about
them, holding your hair-do firmly
when your permanent is only a
beautiful memory . . .
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Quality ^Manufacturers for Over 50 years
BOB PINS HAIR PINS SAFETY PINS
SNAP FASTENERS STRAIGHT PINS
HOOKS & EYES HOOK & EYE TAPES
SANITARY BELTS
men are tilted skyward.
Alan, Frankie and Danny (Pinkie) have
applied for admission into the Air Forces,
and the opening scene of the picture finds
them anxiously watching the mails for their
notifications.
One afternoon one of their mothers ap-
pears on the scene where the three of
them are congregated with the long-ex-
pected letter in her hand. Instantaneously,
Mapleton becomes the springboard for
three hilarious young men, for they leap
out into the arena of a world as far re-
moved from the serenity of their home
scene as Mars.
Alan, Frankie and Pinkie, as their
highly personalized little dramas unfold,
are also telling the stories of the eleven
million of their kind who have ganged up
into the most colossal war-machine in the
history of wars.
on a wing and a prayer . . .
Well, from the moment the letter arrives
summoning the three air-struck Maple-
tonians with their feet on Ohio soil and
their heads in the clouds, they are on their
way. What they do not know about the
air (one of them is addicted to train sick-
ness) is written in their untried, untired
faces.
They kiss their best girls good-by, but
Dorothy, Alan's wife, decides to accom-
pany him, and Frankie, on second thought,
decides to marry Jane, or rather Jane de-
cides it for him. The shadows of the
pleasant town of Mapleton deepen into
fade-out, and presto-chango, three more
Americans are on their way to qualify for
the hierarchy of the air.
Civilian, how much do you actually know
about what happens to one of these boys
between the time he sets forth from his
particular Mapleton and the time he rides
his first ship as its pilot or bombardier?
Well, you can't know much less than did
our trio; a bank clerk, a barber and a
chemist, the morning they found them-
selves plunk in the midst of a bunch of
trainees at the Blair Training Center.
There they quickly discover that, as pre-
cadets, they are not only a long way
from the mere sight of a plane, but are
just a bunch of greenies, about to be
hazed because they are just that.
To see these three fellows move into
their basic training is to never again fail
to understand just why our airmen are put
together like precision instruments; just
why they ride the ether like supermen;
just why they are playing their triumphant
conquering roles in our terrible war.
We sit in our comfortable plush chairs
and see these boys whom we know so well
put to test after test after test. We see
their frank American faces tighten into
masks of anguish. We see their eyeballs
strain, the sweat pour, the nerves tighten,
the chests expand almost to the point
where we, in our comfortable chairs,
smother under the physical strain of
watching.
We see these boys tensed to their ut-
most, trying to focus the eye in these
grilling examinations, to coordinate the
nerve impulses, to calculate, react, make
lightning decisions that are ultimately
going to mean life or death. And while
we watch, too tense to breathe, we know
everything else there is to know about
these fellows. They aren't just robots, try-
ing to coordinate. We know their mothers
and their sisters, we know their wives and
their sweeties. We don't only know it
about our three from Mapleton, but we
know it about the bunch of recruits who
are starting training with them at the same
time. The boys from Brooklyn, from
Texas, from Canajoharie aren't just mech-
anisms. They're our national flesh and
blood, under test, under fire.
And when Pinkie is "washed out" in his
examinations and fails to qualify for the
higher form of air service, grim fact merges
into story-telling that makes a combination
hard to beat.
That scene where the men are being put
to test for the physical control that every
flyer must conquer, is a lesson in the mas-
tery of the individual over his body that
fills one with self-respect as well as added
respect for the superb human machines
under fire of the examiner's challenge.
And right here is as good a spot as any
to pause and ponder upon #ie manner in
which the love interests have been handled.
In a picture seething with modern youth,
skitterers over the thin ice of danger and
death, the women alone seem a bit dated.
The girls, sweethearts and young wives,
vitally and rightly concerned with the
"my man" angle, exhibit a single-track
monotony of purpose and interests both
mystifying and fallacious.
There is, however, one notable piece of
acting when the news is brought to Janie,-
(played by Jane Ball) of the death of her
pilot husband, Frankie.
Whether or not Mr. Cukor realized it, he
sets a new high in this scene which should
become a classic in how to make the most
out of the least number of gestures.
The grim news is carried to Janie by
one of Frankie's Mapleton pals, in the
house she shares on the edge of the camp.
The effect of tragedy and heart-break
is accomplished by the opening of a front
door by the young wife, and nothing more
than an exchange of looks between the
young man on the steps and herself. The
heart of a girl and the heart of the audiend]
break in that silent instant.
Story telling that!
But the picture does not close on death
It closes on life, as one of the Mapleton
fellows living in the midst of death, re
ceives the news of the birth of a son^
Life marches on.
MODERN SCREEN QUIZ
Sorry, folks, we're raising the ante
this month. Yep, seems you've been
getting too high scores to make this
a game, it's becoming a walkaway!
And it's no excuse alibiing that you're
just so hep to the news — being MS
readers — that you couldn't miss if you
tried. Sooo, this month, you gotta get
80% at least— or else!
Remember, you score 5 points if you
guess the personality on the first set
of clues, 4 if you have to look at the
second batch and 3 if you hit a blank
spot and gotta go snitching to num-
ber 3. Good luck!
QUIZ CLUES
Set 1
1. A Doughgirl
2. Toured to Tito
3. Cracking kid sister
4. Stilt-walker was in dumps
5. Minister's son
6. "The Body"
7. Won his suit while Sue-ing
8. King of the Jukers
9. "Little Norway"
10. Marrying widower
11. Nazi-hating "Field Marshal"
12. Man-hating man-eater
13. Nixed croon to spoon
14. Life's a bowl of Cherry
15. EGR
16. "Discovered" 3 times
17. Dancing mother
18. Fugitive from a chain store
19. Lithe and blithe
20. Sturges' star
(Continued on page 85)
A GIRL...
with a pastv/hich must
be kept hidden! The
lives of millions hung on
what these two dared
against terrifying odds!
Paramount Presents
RAY
MILLANC
Hunted and Haunted
by the
A MASTERPIECE OF MYSTERY
from the Thrilling Novel by GRAHAM GREENE
who wrote "This Gun For Hire." Thrilling
Direction by FRITZ LANG, who gave you
"Fury" and "Man-Hunt."
MARJORIE
REYNOLDS
CARL ESMOND PERCY WARAM
HILLARY BROOKE
Directed by
FRITZ LANG
Screen Play by Seton I. Miller
WEAREVER
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years of devoted service. Zenith, with
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most rewarding pen purchase. Made by
David Kahn, Inc. (Established 1896)
Wearever Zenith -Pen and
Pencil Set in fine gift box
$275
10
By Virginia Wilson
HERE COME THE WAVES
■ I'm confused. Here is Bing Crosby playing a crooner that the bobby sox
brigade swoons over. What does that make Sinatra — the Dowagers' Delight?
Anyway, Bing does all right with the role, and Betty Hutton plays opposite him.
You can say that again, because Betty plays a. dual role. One Hutton is enough
to exhaust most men — you can imagine the trouble Bing has coping with two.
Betty, as Susie Adams, lo-o-o-ves crooner Johnny Cabot (Bing Crosby). Betty,
as Rosemary Adams, detests him with equal fervor. She's pretty sick of watch-
ing sister Susie moon over photographs of him and get that wild-eyed look when
she hears him sing. Rosemary joins the WAVES, and Susie lays in an extra
supply of Johnny's pictures and joins, too. At a New York night club they
actually meet the crooner in person. He's accompanied by an old friend of his,
just back from the South Pacific. The friend, Windy, is a big blond lumbering
guy played by Sonny Tufts. (You had that all figured out yourself, didn't you?)
Well, Susie gives Johnny one long soulful look, and swoons. Rosemary surveys
him coldly, and definitely does not swoon. With typical male contrariness,
Johnny develops a yen for Rosemary.
About that time his draft board re-classifies him, and whoops, dearie! he's
in the Navy! He and Windy and the two girls all get together at San Diego.
Both men try to date Rosemary and avoid the swooning Susie. Johnny no sooner
seems to be making a little progress than Windy manages to get him tossed
in the brig. To make matters worse, Susie is afraid the crooner will be sent
to sea, so she writes a letter to his commanding officer, signed with Johnny's
name, suggesting that he organize a show to recruit WAVES. Rosemary hears about
it and thinks he's a coward, dodging active duty. Johnny doesn't know what's
going on, but suspects Windy of a complicated double cross. Eventually there is
a super duper show, with Johnny and Windy singing a duet {that you gotta
hear!). Hutton as Rosemary gets kissed by Johnny and {Continued on page 12)
Susie (Betty Hutton) is swoony for bobby sox crooner Johnny Cabot (Bing Crosby) and
sailor Windy (Sonny Tufts) from the moment she meets them in New York. Her twin. Rosemary,
can't see either for dirt. Matters are complicated when both boys fall for Rosemary.
pilollywootft' heart is in it-
0 0*td of Hollywood* Stmt
Jf.oJACK BENNY* + jfr *
'^doE B BROWN
\ EDDIE CANTOR*
\iTTY CARLISLE
^DANE CLARK *
do an Crawford ■
\ BETTE DAVIS
i FAYE EMERZON
ViCroR FRAnCEN
c)oHM GAPFIELO
SmEY GREEn?tRBET
-j? ALAN HALE
P/WL HENkElD
\ ROBERT HUTTON
I do AN LE?L\E
Jf PETER LO&RE
f IDA LVPlNO
IREnE MAULING
doAM MCCRACKEN
DoLoze9 M0R4M
M MORGAN
* ELEANOR PARKER
*dovcE Reynold?
RoY ROGERZ& TRIGGER «v
f\2AeHARYfC0TT ,
Barbara S^wiv^
JOSEPH ?ZIGET(
"DON'T FENCE ME ^N"
..HOLl¥WOOD CANTER
Original Screen Play by Delmer Daves • Musical Numbers Created & Directed by LEROY PRINZ • Directed by" DELMER DAVES
JACK L WARNER, Executive Producer Produced by ALEX GOTTLIEB
'Touching with dazzled lips her
Starlight Hand
'Endymion," John Keats
A lovely line —
but remember, no one's
lips are "dazzled" by
Scullery Skin
Don't let kitchen chores make your hands look OLD
IT TAKES a soft, young-looking hand
to bring a man's lips closer . . . and
closer . . . But in spite of kitchen drud-
gery, your hands can be as smoothly
enchanting as your face. Use Pacquins
Hand Cream daily to help counteract
the harsh, drying effects of housework
and weather ... to lend your hands a
Hand § ckE***
look of milky-white softness and
smoothness!
It was originally formulated for doc-
tors and nurses. They have their hands
in water 30 to 40 times a day, so they
need an effective cream.
Not sticky... not greasy. Pacquins is
creamy-smooth, fragrant. Try it today.
Pacquins
Hand Cream
Originally formulated for doc-
tors and nurses, whose hands
take the abuse of 30 to 40
washings and scrubbings a day.
MOVIE REVIEWS
(Continued from page 10)
AT ANY DRUG,
DEPARTMENT, OR TEN-CENT STORE
Hutton as Susie gets kissed by Windy.
That, kids, is a double feature, but good!
—Par.
P. S.
In keeping with a resolution made at the
time of Pearl Harbor, Mark Sandrich,
producer-director, is maintaining his record
of making nothing but pictures which will
aid the war effort. ... He began this
record with "So Proudly We Hail." . . .
Betty Hutton, playing twins in the picture,
was Hollywood's busiest gal. She had an
average of eight hairdos a day. Every time
the red wig was removed, it meant a sham-
poo. In spite of all this Betty had enough,
energy left over to do camp shows, radio
spots and hospital tours over the week
ends. . . . The WAVE uniforms are au-
thentic with a few Edith Head touches.
When Edith got through with them, there
was more sex in them than a banned
sweater ever possessed. . . . Sonny Tups
brings his singing voice to the screen with
a duet "Accent on the Positive" with der
Bingle Crosby. . . . There are eight other
original songs in this picture plus a Crosby
solo of "Black Magic". . . . Because of
transportation difficulties, Sandrich didn't
take his troupe to Hunter College, New
York, or to San Diego for resulting action.
Instead, a second unit, under direction of
Dink Templeton, spent six weeks in New
York and four in San Diego shooting back-
grounds of WAVES at work. The producer-
director also insisted that no WAVES be
deterred from their war work. Factual
shots of their drills and labors prove more
effective. . . . Reproductions of Hunter
College and the Barracks at Coronado,
Calif., were constructed on giant sound
stages at the studio. In order to further
authenticity, WAVES from both spots were
retained as technical advisers. Gals were
Captain Helen McAfee, Lt. Comm. Louis
K. Wilde and Lt. (JG) Kathleen Quinn.
NATIONAL VELVET
If you read "National Velvet" when it
was a best seller, you are probably won-
dering where Mickey Rooney fits into the
picture. The answer is that a part was
written in especially for him, and the result
is fine. Mickey can really act when he
wants to, and he brings a warm depth of
emotion to his portrayal of a young ex-
jockey. The principal character is still
Velvet, played by a beguiling child named
Elizabeth Taylor. Velvet is a dreamy
twelve-year old, whose love of horses is
an all absorbing passion. Her oldest sister,
Edwina, has discovered boys, and Malvolia
adores canaries. The youngest member of
the family, Donald (Jackie Jenkins), re-
gards them all with solemn detachment
and lives in an entrancing world of his
own.
They have a very understanding mother.
Mrs. Brown (Anne Revere) swam the
Channel at twenty years of age, and won
fame and a hundred sovereigns. After that
she married Mr. Brown and settled down
to a placid life in a country village. Mr.
Brown regards anything out of the ordi-
nary with a suspicious eye. When young
Mi Taylor (Mickey Rooney) turns up out
of nowhere, broke and hungry, it takes
considerable persuasion to make Mr.
Brown give him a job in his butcher shop.
Velvet is fascinated with Mickey because
he knows so much about horses. She takes
him to see Pie, a horse that belongs to
Farmer Ede. According to Velvet, he is
the "most wonderful horse in the world."
There are two schools of thought on that.
Five little, false little words:
I never
perspire
in Winter!
Don't let the thermometer trick you into offending.
Avoid underarm odor with MUM.
His present owner considers him a damned
nuisance, since he can jump the highest
fence and do all sorts of damage in the
village. He finally raffles him off, and
Velvet wins him. This is heaven! A horse
of her own, and what a horse!
Mi helps her train Pie and is really re-
sponsible for her idea of entering him in
the "Grand National." Pie has already
jumped fences as high as any on that
famous course. But there are obstacles
in the way more difficult than fences — the
entry fee, for one, and finding a jockey,
for another. How Mi and Velvet solve
these problems makes a story that you'll
never forget. The picture is a masterpiece,
its beauty enhanced by the Technicolor
scenes of the English countryside. — M-G-M.
P. S.
Proof was given to studio that the picture
was all they'd expected it to be when the
preview crowd (usually a cold, tough,
'make me like it" bunch) stood and
cheered for Velvet during the steeplechase
scene. . . . Incidentally, those spills during
that race are not faked — they're the real
thing. . . . The paddock at Aintree, Eng-
land's famed steeplechase track, was dupli-
cated at the Santa Monica Uplifters Club
Polo Field. . . . The electric bell which
rings on set as a signal for the electricians
to turn on the lights, sounded just like the
starting bell to King Charles, the race
horse. So when the bell rang, King
Charles was off, steeple chasing around the
set. Mickey, with the help of a few dozen
set men, finally caught the horse before
any real damage was done. . . . Reginald
Owen's trip to Monterey on location was
one of his most successful. He came home
with a treasured recipe for Abalone Chow-
der. Seems Reginald had dined almost
nightly at a famous seafood restaurant
there, and finally talked the owner out of
his formula for this favorite dish. .- . .
Director Clarence Brown sent to England
for all books available containing descrip-
tions of the English country folk in Sussex
and the Grand National horse race at Ain-
tree. This picture is guaranteed authentic.
. . . Don't worry about the fate of the dying
horse in the stall — the one who is lying
prone, groaning with pain — he's been
taught to do that without a bit of prodding
from his trainer. Five minutes later he was
peacefully munching carrots. . . . Part of
the dialogue had to be rewritten when
Jackie "Butch" Jenkins lost a third tooth!
CAN'T HELP SINGING
There's a joyous lightheartedness to
Deanna Durbin's new picture. The Jerome
Kern songs are bait for the Hit Parade,
and Deanna sings, flirts and cajoles with
gay abandon. Robert Paige, Akim Tamiroff
and David Bruce lend their support to this
romantic comedy of the Gold Rush days.
Caroline Frost (Deanna Durbin) is in
love with a dashing Calvalry officer, Lieu-
tenant Latham (David Bruce) . At least she
thinks she in love with him and is serious
enough about it to worry her father, who
knows Latham is a fortune hunter. Senator
Frost uses his influence to have the Lieu-
tenant sent to California. Caroline, as stub-
born as her father, wheedles five thousand
dollars from him for "a trip to New York"
and then starts West with it instead, after
Latham.
In those days you traveled by stage coach
or wagon train, and you were likely to meet
some pretty strange characters en route.
"Prince Gregory Strogonsky" (Akim Tam-
iroff), for instance, attaches himself to
Caroline, or rather to her trunk, which he
is convinced is full of gold. Then there is
the gambler, Johnny Lawlor (Robert
Paige), who is wanted by the police and
also by various men who would like to
know since when there are five aces in a
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Co-Star of "HERE COME THE WAVES/' a Paramount picture
14
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pack of cards. Johnny has decided to give
up gambling and go to California for the
Gold Rush. By now, Caroline, too, is a
fugitive from justice, since her irate father
has sent word ahead that she stole the five
thousand dollars. Unfair, perhaps, but a
good way of keeping her from reaching
Latham, he thinks.
Caroline, Johnny and the "Prince" join
forces. It's a long way to California, and
there is plenty of time for Caroline to
decide that Johnny would be a lot more
fun as a husband than Latham. But she
has told him a flock of lies in order to
get him to take her along, and when they
get to California, the flock comes home to
roost. There is a hilarious scene when all
the "suitors," real and mythical, get to-
gether, but Deanna persuades everyone
that it was all in a good cause. — Univ.
P. S.
Copies of the sound track of this picture,
featuring Durbin and Bob Paige, of the
songs "More and More," " Calif orn-l- Ay,"
"Any Moment Now" and "Can't Help
Singing," were collectors' items in Holly-
wood. Somehow the sound tracks were
sneaked out of the music department and
copied months before the picture was
ready for release. Bidding on the waxed
copies was high. . . . Trade secrets: The
Treasury Building in Washington, D. C.
(a la 1849), was actually a new face on one
end of the Los Angeles Coliseum, scene of
I SAW IT HAPPEN
A car pulled up to the Twelfth
Street door of the Hotel Muehlebach
in Kansas City, and the doorman
stepped up and seized the luggage.
"Will you please send the bags up
to my room?" the passenger inquired.
"I'd be glad to, sir. I presume you
have a room here? And are you one
of the boilermakers attending the
Ship Builders Convention?" queried
the doorman.
"No," snapped the guest, "I'm Errol
Flynn, and I have quarters reserved
in the penthouse!"
Mrs. E. W. McMichael
Little Rock, Ark.
the 1932 Olympic games and some of the
biggest gridiron classics in history. . . .
Tough summer location trip when the cast
and crew went to Parawan Gap, Utah, for
shots of covered wagon trains crossing the
great Western desert. For miles around
there was nothing but sand and sagebrush.
The wind blew, whipping up dust clouds
which threatened to stop operation of the
cameras and sound equipment. It finally
did stop operation of many of the cast who
had to be taken to the hospital to have their
respiratory tracks dusted. A normal day's
supply of water was exhausted by noon,
and a truck had to be' sent to town ten
miles away for fresh supplies. . . . How-
ever, Deanna learned a few of the finer
points of camping while in Navajo Lake,
Utah. It was she who made gallons of
coffee over a Bob Paige-built campfire
each morning. . . . There are no limitations
to the sources of material for motion pic-
tures. Director Frank Ryan lifted a situ-
ation right out of his own family life for
a running gag. For more than a year his
six-year-old son indulged in a habit of
twisting his hair with a forefinger. Mr.
and Mrs. Ryan did their best to break the
habit— finally succeeded by having the
boy's hair clipped. Exactly as it happens
in the picture!
ROUGHLY SPEAKING
You can call this the saga of an American
I family, or you can call it the history of a
rugged individualist. Either way, it's a
delightful picture, and if you miss it, you'll
be so-o-o-rry! Rosalind Russell is still
playing a career girl, but this time the
career includes five children and two hus-
bands. Two, because husband number one
leaves her with this dramatic but accurate
farewell speech. . . . "Living with you and
those kids," he says bitterly, "has been
like living with Baby Snooks in a cageful
of lions."
Let's go back to the beginning. The
strongest single influence on the life of
Louise Randall Pierson (Rosalind Russell)
is probably her father. He is a genial, ex-
travagant gentleman whose motto is "Noth-
ing is too good for the Randalls." He dies
when she is twelve, and leaves his wife
a huge white elephant of a house, a dia-
mond sunburst, two daughters and enough
unpaid bills to heat the house all winter.
But to Louise, her father will always be
alive. His advice to "shoot for the moon
and the hell with everybody" becomes her
philosophy of life. It undoubtedly is the
chief factor in the failure of her first
marriage.
Rodney Crane (Donald Woods) is a
handsome, conservative young banker. He
brushes off Louise's desire for a job and
turns her into a housewife and mother. He
never has the faintest understanding of her
character. He can't understand why she
doesn't cry when Louise, Jr.," is crippled by
infantile paralysis. It is, of course, because
she is too busy making the child realize
that lameness may be a nuisance but it
need never be a handicap. When Rodney
loses his job, Louise goes to work to sup-
port them. Rodney promptly finds a girl
who will bolster his ego and asks Louise
for a divorce.
It is a shock to her, for she still loves
him. But she determines to make a success
of life without him, for the children's sake.
Later she meets Harold Pierson (Jack
Carson) , who's an utter screwball but per-
fect for Louise. "Mother, are you going to
get him for our new father?" Louise, Jr.,
inquires curiously when Louise brings him
home to look over her offspring. "That
child could make " a fortune reading tea
leaves," Harold says gravely. Reading tea
leaves is practically the only thing they
don't try in the next fifteen years, but it's
all fun.
Robert Hutton, Jean Sullivan, Alan Hale
and John Qualen are among the cast. — War.
P. S.
Miss Russell lost seventeen pounds dur-
ing production of this picture. It didn't
matter photographically because as she
aged in the picture, more padding was
used in her costumes to make her appear
heavier. However, it mattered very much
to studio officials who insisted she take a
long vacation before doing another picture.
She'd been resting a few weeks . at a
Southern California lake resort when she
collapsed and was hospitalized for a long
session of rebuilding her health. . . . Picture
was filmed on seventy different sets, and
Miss Russell has fifty-seven costume
changes. Took fifteen players to portray
the five children in three different age
periods. . . . George James Hopkins did the
sets. Spent seventeen weeks studying the
various periods before making designs.
Pictures of this type, which cover half-
centuries, are the most difficult to produce.
Every department: Costumes, sets, hair-
dressers, actors — all have a much harder
and time-consuming job to do. . . . Nine-
teen-year-old Robert Arthur got a terrific
break. Eleven days after he arrived in
Hollywood (fresh from an honorable medi-
cal discharge from the Navy), he was por-
traying one of Mrs. Pierson's sons. It's his
first film job. ... Jo Ann Marlowe won the
distinction of being Hollywood's youngest
(Continued on page 18)
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16
66
HEDY LAMARR
GEORGE BRENT • PAUL LUKAS
^ • with r
ALBERT DEKKER • CARL ESMOND . OLIVE BLAKENEY
GEORGE N. NEISE . MARGARET WYCHERlY
Produced by Robert Fellows. Directed by Jacques Tourneur
Screen p!ay by Warren Doff
3i
To Families and Friends of Servicemen: This is one of the films chosen by the
War Department and provided by the motion picture industry for showing
oversees in combat areas. Red Cross hospitals and at isolated outposts.
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pin-up girl, following a request for her
photo from a Seabee unit. Jo Ann is eight.
. . . Cole Porter's famed college song, "Bull
Dog," was written in 1911 when he was a
Yale student. It's one of 35 songs cleared
for use in this picture. . . . Rosalind brought
a small metallic doghouse to the set to be
worn about the neck of any who incurred
the Curtiz wrath. First victim: Miss
Russell, herself, who wore it all day for
being late to the set.
EXPERIMENT PERILOUS
You can't blame a husband for being
jealous of anyone as beautiful as Hedy La-
marr. No, this isn'f a tip-off on the love
life of the Loder family. . . . It's a remark
prompted by her new picture, "Experiment
Perilous." Hedy wears the elegant gowns
of the early 1900's and has a psycho-
neurotic husband who goes green-eyed
when she so much as looks at another man.
Since he is played by Paul Lukas, who is
a suave, subtle actor, he doesn't denote
jealousy by gnashing his teeth. He does
it in a suave, subtle way, by making people
think his lovely wife is going out of her
mind. He even calls in a psychiatrist.
The psychiatrist is Dr. Huntingdon
Bailey (George Brent, and I'd be psycho-
analyzed myself if George would do it!).
He knows considerably more about Nick
Bederaux and his beautiful Allida (Hedy
Lamarr) than Nick at first realizes. That
is because he happened to meet Nick's
sister on a train from Chicago, and she
chattered along carelessly about family
matters. Too carelessly. Poor Miss
Bederaux! Next day at tea with Nick and
Allida, she has a "heart attack" and dies
immediately. But her dressing case was
substituted for Nick's in getting off the
train, and when Hunt opens it, he finds a
diary which gives him a clue to events past
and future in the Bederaux house on
Murray Hill. The diary mentions Alec, who
was young and full of life and in love
with Allida. Alec is dead, and now Miss
Bederaux is dead, too. When Hunt remem-
bers the look he himself got from Beder-
aux's inscrutable eyes when Allida seemed
to like him, he feels none too safe.
He knows the risk Allida and her five-
year-old son run every day they stay m
the same house with Nick. But it isn t
going to be easy to get them out. It might
have been easier if Hunt hadn't fallen
deeply in love with Allida at their first
meeting. Still, he is a psychiatrist, and he
understands Nick's twisted mentality.
There must be a way. There is indeed, but
it lies through a grim path of horror that
at last resolves into violence.
It takes a superb cast to do justice to
this kind of picture. Fortunately RKO has
given us one, including Olive Blakeney,
Albert Dekker, Stephanie Bachelor and
Carl Esmond. — RKO.
P. S.
ftory of "Experiment Perilous" was not
nged from the book plot except to be set
back fifty years. This was done at the
suggestion of. Miss Lamarr. She beheved
the role of a submissive wife would be
more plausible as of fifty years ago than it
would be with a modern day treatment
Also, in this manner, the studio escaped
the necessity of underlining and overton-
ing the picture with war, one of the most
difficult of modern movie problems. . . .
This is the first period picture for Hedy
Lamarr, who is enhanced by sixteen cos-
tume changes. . . . George Brent returns
to the screen after more than a year spent
in training fliers for the Army. . . ■ Paul
(Continued on page 20)
18
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QUESTIONNAIRE
What stories and features did you enjoy most in our February issue? Write 1, 2, 3
at the right of your 1st, 2nd and 3rd choices.
Sweet and Lovely (Jeanne Crain) □
Lon McCallister, Life Story, Part II □
□
Ham from Hamtramck (John
Hodiak)
Stop, Look and Whistle! (Deanna
Durbin) □
Cinderella Boy (Farley Granger) . ... □
Jenny Made Her Mind Up
( Jennifer Jones) ■ □
"I Envy Claudette . . ." ( Claudette
Colbert) by Hedda Hopper □
Frankie, We Love You! (Frank
Sinatra) D
"Der Bingle" (Bing Crosby) □
Big Bad Wolf (Helmut Dantine) . . □
Golden Girl (Louise Allbritton) □
Marriage Is Strictly Okay!
(Dana Andrews) U
Good News by Louella Parsons □
Which of the above did you like LEAST? ; -
What 3 stars would you like to read about in future issues? List them 1, 2, 3 in
order of preference
Not at all?
Zone .
State
Do you sew from patterns: (check one)
A great deal? A little?
My name is.
My address is Clty
I am years old.
ADDRESS THIS TO: POLL DEPT.. MODERN SCREEN
149 MADISON AVENUE. NEW YORK 16. N. Y.
YOU HAVE A DATE WITH A BEAUTIFUL PICTURE
THE F/RST GREAT ^ PRAMAT/C MlfS/CAi . . .
COLUMBIA PICTURES
presents
HAYWORTH
JANET BLAIR LEE BOWMAN
MARC PLATT • LESLIE BROOKS
Screen Play by Lesser Samuels and Abem Finkel ■ Songs by Jule Styne and Sammy Cahn
Produced and Directed by VICTOR SAVILLE
Lukas fans will like this one because it
gives Paul a rich role as the shrewd, re-
lentless, psychopathic killer. . . . Uiwe
Blakeney gets a meaty role in this picture,
too Olive was a top-ranking star of the
English stage and screen, has done some
fine work in America. . . . Albert Dekker
who came to Hollywood to do a couple of
victures for experience and intended to re-
turn to the New York stage, has decided to
stay in Hollywood permanently. His picture
schedule is booked solid for several months
to come . . . Stephanie Bachelor, well-
known on the New York stage, is a com-
parative newcomer to films— made her
screen debut in "Lady of Burlesque. This
is her second venture. . . . Produced by
Robert Fellows and directed by Jacques
Tourneur, son oj Maurice Tourneur, ace
director oj silent films.
A SONG TO REMEMBER
Most of us are pretty vague about the
life of Chopin. We remember a detail here
and there-his Polish background his affair
with George Sand, his fatal illness. A
Song To Remember" fills in all the blank
spaces and weaves an enchanting Techni-
color tapestry of Chopin and his music.
Cornel Wilde makes a romantically mel-
ancholy Chopin. Merle Oberon as George
Sand is fascinating whether shes wearing
trousers or the fabulous gowns of the
period. The picture is materially aided by
the presence of Paul Muni in the part of
Professor Eisner, Chopin's teacher
It is Eisner who first insists that Chopin
must go to Paris as a concert pianist. Since
the boy is only twelve at the time, no one
takes this very seriously. Ten years later
Eisner gets Chopin to Paris, but it is only
because the young man's Polish nationalist
sympathies have gotten him into trouble
with the Russian authorities, and he has
to leave the country. They arrive m Paris,
a disheveled pair of yokels, and Eisner
insists that they go at once to see Louis
Pleyel (George Coulouris), who was in-
terested in Chopin ten years before Ten
years is a long time— Pleyel doesn t even
remember the name and will do nothing
about a concert. Franz Liszt meets the
young musician, however, and is con-
vinced he has talent. He himself arranges
a concert. i u j
The affair is a failure. Chopin has bad
news from home just before he goes on—
his two best friends have been killed tor
aiding his escape. He plays poorly be-
cause of this emotional upset, and the
critics are caustic about the perfomance.
All except George Sand. She— the most
talked of woman in Paris— is intrigued by
his looks as well as persuaded ot his
genius. In a few days' time she succeeds in
whisking him off to her country home, and
the romance between them becomes the
scandal of the year. Poor old Eisner is left
alone and broke in Paris. Chopin has for-
gotten everything except a beautiful
woman. No, not everything He remem-
bers his love of Poland, and the rest ot
his life is torn between these two warring
passions. Both have a tremendous influ-
ence on his work, and posterity owes a
debt to.each for the music of Chopin.— Col.
P. S.
Whether you're a solid sender, a long-
haired ickey or just an ordinary guy with
a love of pretty tunes, the music in this
will go straight to your heart. Chopin
didn't write his music to the intelligentsia
of his day but to the peasants and to
Madame George Sand— it may be un-
derstood and enjoyed by everyone . . . .
The 23 pieces in the picture include almost
all of the popular Chopin compositions.
Proof of their melodious appeal is that
many of the American songs of the early
Twenties were taken from Chopin move-
ments. "I'm Always Chasing Rainbows,
"Moonlight and Roses," "I Found You m
The Rain," to name a few. . . . Muni, the
perfectionist, had three pairs of glasses
specially ground by his oculist for his work
as the music teacher. Glasses were smaller
than those worn today and were encased
in steel rims The character of George
Sand demanded that the Oberon legs be
hidden with tailored trousers, out on her
they look good. History also recorded that
Sand smoked cigars, and Merle was willing
to try if it would authenticize the picture.
The idea was dropped, however, as un-
necessary to the characterization and pos-
sibly offensive to many picture-goers. . . .
Cornel Wilde, practically lived at the key-
board during the months of filming. So
that his piano fingering would be facile,
he was forbidden to garden, golf or play
tennis. Even at that, he finished pro-
duction with deep callouses on his finger
tips. . . . When the picture was completed,
Cornel visited the nearest music store,
bought a baby grand for his formerly
piano-less Beverly Hills home. . . . Pro-
duction was held up for three days when
Borden, the mustached Duke of Orleans,
absent-mindedly mailed his- mustache to
the Screen Actors Guild along with a
check for his dues!
THE SUSPECT
It is not the policy of this department to
recommend murder. But if ever anyone
asked for death by violence, it's the wife in
this picture. She is a Termagant, a shrew
and a harpy. Charles Laughton, as her hus-
band, makes you feel that he deserves a
medal, instead of hanging, for her re-
moval from this world
You see, Philip Marshall (Charles
Laughton) is really a quiet, gentle man.
Given the right wife, he would have raised
flowers, had an occasional pint at the local
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pub and lived a happy and useful exis-
tence. But he married a virago who
screams at him like a fishwife and makes
him wish he had never been born. Their
son, John (Dean Harens), leaves home be-
cause his mother's nagging interference is
too much for him. Philip, who loves John
deeply, is very lonely after he goes. Per-
haps that's one reason he particularly
notices the girl who comes to the exclusive
tobacconist's shop where Philip works. She
is looking for a job, and somehow she
seems as lost and lonely as Philip himself.
Mary (Ella Raines) is a typist, and in the
London of 1902, women who want jobs
are looked on with suspicion. But Philip
finds her a place in a dress shop, and they
begin to see each other regularly. He
neglects to mention that he has a wife.
After all, he tells his conscience, you
can't call Cora (Rosalind Ivan) a wife,
really. They live in the same house (and
a filthy place it is, too, since Cora is too
busy complaining to do housework), but
there is no love between them, or even
friendship. With Mary he finds both. So
when Cora threatens not only that love
but Mary's very existence, Philip takes
things into his own hands. The coroner's
verdict calls it death by accident, but In-
spector Huxley of Scotland Yard isn't so
sure. When Philip's drunken neighbor
hears about Huxley's suspicions, he de-
cides to cash in on them. He tells Philip he
heard Cora cry out the night of her death,
and what she cried is worth twenty
pounds. Philip considers the matter. He
is married to Mary now, and they can be
very happy together if there is no trouble
over Cora's death. But he can't afford to
hand out twenty pounds every week or so.
The next day the neighbor disappears.
It's frightening to see the lengths even
a gentle man may be driven to. Laughton
manages to convince you that he is a gentle
man and to scare hell out of you at the
same time. Ella Raines turns in a fine
performance as Mary. — Univ.
P. S.
Only trouble with cats- as actors, you
don't get any emotional range. A cat is a
cat—either frisky or quiet and that's that.
Problem was solved when two identical
Persian kittens were discovered by Prop
men. "Mickie" gets the call for the playful
scenes, and "Vickie," the docile type, is
brought in to sit quietly on Laughton's
lap or at Miss Raines' feet. . . . Talk of
cats reminded Mr. Laughton of the eternal
triangle at his own home. He has three
cats—all strays— "Pinkie," "Mrs. Pinkie"
and "Fredric". . . . Ella Raines, who ran
off to be married a few days before her
final exam at the University of Washington,
was promised an A. B. degree from the
college if she would write a thesis on some
theatrical subject. Ella hasn't had time
before, but between scenes for this picture
she managed to get it done. Ifs a thesis
on Laughton's technique in acting. . . .
Some research had to be done into the bar-
room habits of ladies in the early 1900's.
Director Robert Siodmak discovered that
on shipboard it was permissible for a lady
to enter the drinking room, but that she
definitely did not stand with one foot on
the brass rail. She was served at a small
table alongside the bar and sipped at a
mild cocktail. . . . Laughton reduced con-
siderably for this role. His stand-in, Tommy
Hicks, who weighs 265, couldn't knock off
a pound. Since he can't diet down to stand
in for 200-pound actors, he will have to
take on fifty pounds and stand-in for Andy
Devine. . . . Laughton came to work each
morning with a new, glowing report on the
pastry of his Danish cook. Finally the
drooling cast and crew pooled their ration
points and bought Laughton two pounds of
butter so his cook could send over samples
of her culinary achievements.
Can this WAC Lieutenant marry—
□ A Private
O A Captain
□ A Sergeant
A WAC officer can wed her One and Only,
whether he's a brass hat, a non-com, or plain
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It's fun to read character through hand-
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Dorothy Sara, noted handwriting ana-
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D Repaint a previous job
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LAKE PLACID SERENADE
Czechoslovakia is a long jaunt from Lake
Placid, but it's in Czechoslovakia that the
opening scenes of this picture take place.
Personally, I like those scenes best, with
all the snow, white, and velvet soft, and the
vivid Czech costumes, and quaint little men
like Haschek (Lloyd Corrigan). Haschek <
is the foster father of the heroine, Vera
(Vera Hruba Ralston) . Vera is Republic s
version of Sonja Henie, and a very nice
version she is.
Vera doesn't, of course, stay long m
Czechoslovakia. When she wins the na-
tional skating championship, she gets an
invitation to the Lake Placid Winter Fes-
tival. Also there are a couple of agents,
Webb (Walter Catlett) and Jiggers (Wil-
liam Frawley), who follow her around,
waving contracts under her pretty nose.
They are backed by a man-mad Countess,
played by Vera Vague in the usual Vague
manner.
Vera (Haschek, not Vague) comes to
America to star as a skater, and here she
meets her wealthy uncle, Carl Cermak
(Eugene Pallette), and his two daughters.
Daughter A is Irene (Stephanie Bachelor) ,
a spoiled beauty who's trying her darndest
to coax handsome Paul Jordan (Robert
Livingston) to the altar. Daughter B,
Susan (Ruth Terry), is a charming girl
with a sense of humor. She likes Vera
immediately and does her best to protect
her from Irene's glacial onslaughts.
One evening, Vera is skating on a pond
near the Cermak home and meets Paul
for the first time. He doesn't know who she
is, but she's for him, right from the start.
"A blonde angel off the top of the Christmas
tree," he thinks. Vera goes for him, too,
but of course Irene puts a prompt period to
this budding romance. Or maybe it s only
a comma, because Paul goes right on being
in love with Vera even when she dis-
appears, and no one knows where to find
^Susan pulls a fast one and gets them all
together at Lake Placid where Vera is
Winter Queen. And who is Winter King.'
None other than our old pal, Roy Rogers.
Trigger is along, too, and does everything
but skate. Ray Noble makes with the
music, Vera loses one skate, Cinderella
fashion, and when it's found, there s a
happy ending. — Rep.
P. S.
The lover of beautiful and clever dances
on ice will not go away from this hungry
for more. There's plenty of ice-skating m
it Vera Ralston is at her best as is the
rest of the cast-on-ice. Little Twinkle
Watts the child wonder, is in it, and Mc-
Gowan and Mack do their famous apache
number, and the famous Polish ballet
dancers, Felix Sadovsky and Janina Fros-
tova, do some beautiful folk numbers. In
addition to all this, the musical score is
perfect. Music is supplied by Harry Owens,
Ray Noble and a 64-piece studio orchestra
under the direction of Walter Scharf. There
are no original numbers in this picture,
but the familiar tunes, subordinated to the
action, make the musical background even
more pleasant to listen to. . . . The only
vocal number is by Roy Rogers, King of
the Cowboys," who sings '^Winter Wonder-
land " . Brilliant sets surround the huge
frozen lake on a Republic sound stage for
the series of numbers. One set is a replica
of Lake Placid, with hundreds of real pine
trees, tons of artificial snow. Another
represents the ice rink at Madison Square
Garden, and a third duplicates a scene in
Czechoslovakia. A luxurious Long Island
estate is the locale for another, and the fifth
is the sparkling show boat background of
the minstrel ballet. All five are done on
the same rink Scene for Bob Living-
ston had to be rewritten. Bob was sup-
I SAW IT HAPPEN
It was Tuesday night, October 31st,
and we'd been waiting for almost three
hours. Not that it mattered— Frank
Sinatra was at the Paramount, and it
was his last night!
My friend and I finally got in, only
to find that most of the audience had
been in the theater so long that they
not only chatted while the picture was
running, but were able to recite some
of the dialogue along with the actors'.
Finally, it was the last show. Ray
Paige and his orchestra went into a
medley of service tunes, Eileen Barton,
breathtaking in blue net and sequins,
did two numbers and encored with
"The Trolley Song." Pops and Louie, a
dance team, and impersonator Ollie
O'Toole thanked us for our attention,
and Ray delivered a tribute to Frank
who, he said, ". . . is a great guy and
always a gentleman and deserves all
of the admiration you give him."
Then the orchestra swelled into
"This Love Of Mine," everyone stood
up applauding and cheering like mad,
and Frankie burst forth. As one fan
said, he looked "simply heavenly m
his blue-grey suit with matching shirt
and a maroon and grey-striped tie.
And that lock of hair which had
started falling at the earlier shows had
now tumbled down over his forehead.
As he stood speechless in front of the
mike, the kids started singing For
He's A Jolly Good Fellow" while a
stream of beautifully wrapped pres-
ents and white carnations flowed
towards the stage with Frankie plac-
ing each one on the bandstand and
trying, as far as possible, to shake
each hand reaching to him. Finally, the
procession was over, the singing
stopped, and just as Frankie stepped to
the mike, the first 25 rows of fans who
were still standing went into You 11
Never Know." Instantly, the theater
hushed with the sincerity of the girls.
When they finished, Frankie looked at
them and murmured softly, "I've never
been able to express myself by writing,
and I'm not much for talking, but one
thing I want to tell you, this is the
happiest moment of my life.
He then proceeded to thank us m
his own way— by singing. He ren-
dered several numbers and then an-
nounced "Old Man River," adding,
'Paul Robeson does a magnificent job,
and I only hope I can do one-third
as well." , ,
When he finished, the applause was
tremendous. He smiled, bowed, threw
a kiss and was gone.
But not forgotten.
Harriett Pearson
New York City
posed to take a fall on the ice, but Living-
ston is considered such a dangerous risk
that Lloyd's won't insure him. He s broken
both legs in riding in sagebrush sagas,
nearly scalped himself galloping beneath
a tree, and he can play his broken knuckles
like castanets. "Don't bother about the fall,
Bob," director Sekely told him, just stay
on your feet— if you can!"
MINISTRY OF FEAR
A charity bazaar in an English village
sounds innocent, doesn't it? Not the sort
of thing you'd expect to lead to a spy ring
and a few murders. It seems to Stephen
Neale (Ray Milland) a harmless way to
(Continued on page 24)
A surging, tempes-
tuous story . . . aglow
with tenderness...
powerfully emotional.
COLUMBIA PICTURES
presents
miian,
Sidney, £$ac/w>
°ng tolemember
starring
MUNI if OBERON
wi,i CORNEL WILDE
NINA FOCH • GEORGE COULOURIS
Screen Play by Sidney Buchman
Directed by CHARLES VIDOR
Use lipstick brush for neater, more
lasting job. Rub brush in lipstick,
make curved "x" in center of
upper lip. Outline lips clear to
corners, cutting down cupid's bow.
Use corner of a Sitroux Tissue to
remove lipstick that smears over.
Fill in upper lip. Press lips to-
gether; fill in lower lip — clear to
corners. Blot with one-half of a
Sitroux Tissue. ( Absorbent Sitroux
blots away all excess lipstick —
leaves a smooth, even coating.)
Powder lips lightly. Moisten and
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with other side of tissue. (SAVE
Sitroux*) Keep Sitroux handy for
facial cleansings, manicures and
hundreds of other uses.
ire faced w*
■ Tissue ^rwJoSond production
row material sho^ ^ ^
difficulties . • • *J wrth as many
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nd thanks'.
;aeseenreaovernment
understanding
ROUX
TISSUES
pass the time till he catches the train for
London. He pays a shilling at one stall
to guess the weight of a cake (winner gets
cake), and then goes on to a fortune-teller
It is while he's having his fortune told
that he begins to realize things are a little
odd. Instead- of predicting a voyage across
the water and a meeting with a luscious
blonde, the fortune-teller says urgently,
"Guess the weight of the cake at four
pounds, two ounces." Stephen, intrigued,
goes out and pays another shilling for an
extra guess. "Four pounds, two ounces,
he says, and the cake is handed over to
him amid a distinctly creepy silence.
As he starts away with it, the fortune-
teller comes out from a conference with
a new arrival and signals that a mistake
has been made. They try to get Stephen
to give back the cake, but he's stubborn
about it. He won it, didn't he? He gets
on the train for London, complete with
cake. A blind man taps his way along the
platform and gets into the same compart-
ment. When the train stops during a bomb-
ing raid, he slugs Steve with his cane and
makes off with the cake. When Steve
pursues him, he almost gets shot.
Stephen's interest is now fully aroused.
He doesn't like being slugged or robbed
or shot at. When he gets to London, he
starts a quiet investigation of the people
back of that charity bazaar. It was run,
he finds, by a charming Austrian girl, Carla
(Marjorie Reynolds), and her attractive
brother Willi (Carl Esmond). Willi agrees
to help Stephen find the fortune-teller.
There is another murder after that, and
later a time bomb in a suitcase, then still
another murder. Steve falls in love with
Carla in the meantime, and both their lives
are threatened. The climax is a hair-
raising chase across the roofs of London
Ray Milland is pleasantly bewildered but
determined as the handsome hero. Carl
Esmond really makes things interesting
—Par.
P. S.
Ray Milland passed another milestone
during the filming of this one. Paramount
presented him with a new seven-year con-
tract—no options! This establishes an
unbroken tenure of sixteen years with
one studio for Ray. . . . Incidentally, this
is his forty-third motion picture since ar-
riving from England This brings Percy
Waram back to the screen after a three-
and-a-half-year road tour with "Life With
Father" in which he played the title role.
The large exterior set, showing the
Black Moor, was built on the back lot at
General Service Studio. With that excep-
tion it was filmed inside studio walls at
Paramount The battle between Milland
and Carl Esmond was a rough and tumble
melee with wild-swinging blows and chair-
throwing which lasted for two filming days.
This was an exhaustive role for Ray. In ad-
dition to the two-day fight, he was slugged
over the head with a cane, blown across
a room by an explosion, chased up five
flights of stairs, wedged in a sardine-
packed crowd in an air raid shelter, and
soaked to the skin for a week running in
rain scenes. The role was non-stop, too.
Ray worked on every shooting day of the
picture! . . . Rita Johnson, originally written
into the role of the "other woman," became
ill before shooting began. This gave Hillary
Brooke a boost into a- fine part. . . . Pic-
ture required twenty major sets — an un-
usual number for any picture.
OBJECTIVE, BURMA
There are war pictures that are real,
and there are others that remind you of
the formation of tin soldiers Junior moves
around the living room on Sundays when
he's finished the funnies. "Objective
Burma" happens to be one of the real
ones. It describes a group of paratroopers
on a mission. The mission is a tough one.
Maybe some of the reality comes from
Errol Flynn's portrayal of their command-
ing officer, Captain Nelson. You feel that
you'd as soon follow him into battle as
you would a four-star general. The para-
troopers are a mixed bunch. There's the
talkative wise guy known as "Gabby"
(George Tobias), and the ex-farm boy
called "Nebraska," and the humorous, effi-
cient second-in-command. Lieutenant
Jacobs (William Prince), plus several
others. There is also a more or less un-
known quantity, a newspaper correspon-
dent, Mark Williams (Henry Hull):
The paratroopers are taken by plane
into Burma and dropped off at a desig-
nated spot. "Do a good job and you'll save
thousands of lives," they're told before
they start. "We'll do a good job," Nelson
(Continued on page 26)
JOE COLLEGE — 1961 ISSUE
He's pink and creasy, isn't he, and
his hair's a bit on the fuzzy side, and
he makes hicuppy noises and maybe
his Daddy's never seen him. Not that
he doesn't know every gum mark
and coo and shriek his youngster's
ever pulled. It's just that for the
time being, it's "Daddy— Somewhere
Away From Home."
But when Daddy does come home,
the going may be a bit on the tough
side, and it'll be a while before he'll
be able to adjust things so's the
weekly budget will read, "College
Fund For Mike." And you can bet
your boots that that GI wants Mike
to have a college fund and a nice
house to grow up in and decent
clothes and food and friends. And
maybe he won't be able to get 'em
without help. Help which you can
' so easily provide now, while you're
earning more and living more simply.
Buy Mike a War Bond. You can't
make up to him a childhood without
a father, but you can buy him a
secure and satisfying manhood.
Bonds For Baby Application Form
War Finance Committee
1270 Sixth Avenue
New York 20, N. Y., Room 2701
A War Bond has been □ purchased
will be □
In the amount of $
Serial Number of Bond
for Young
(please print name)
Address
(street or R.F.D.)
(City)
Purchased by
Dated
So fill out the above coupon and
send it in today. And just to keep
everything in the never-never land
spirit of all your Mikes and Marys,
Walt Disney has designed a full-
color "Cradle Roll Of Honor" Cer-
tificate gaily bordered with all his
lovable little cartoon people which
will be filled out by the United
States Treasury in your child's name
-and your honor. >
Buy Mike a War Bond. He s so
little, and it'll mean so much.
^Vtj (P^rw. (Ljl iiouaC ciSaJL u^uV
TRUSHAY
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says quietly. The assignment is to blow
up a Jap radar station, and it is accom-
plished with neatness and dispatch. The
paratroopers, assembling later at the spot
where the transport planes are to pick
them up, are pleased with themselves. It
wasn't an easy job, but it's done, and m
a couple of hours they'll be back at the
The transport planes wing over them
and circle, preparatory to landing. That
is the moment when Nelson discovers a
force of Japs approaching. Too big a force,
too well equipped for the paratroopers to
dispose of. He radios the planes to go
back, and then there begins a long, re-
lentless, heartbreaking struggle against
impossible odds. Against the Japs— and the
jungle— and death in a thousand forms.
You'll get a real thrill when you see the
survivors stagger into the base, and salute
— "Mission accomplished." — War.
P. S.
"Objective, Burma" claims a Warner
Bros. Studio record— more than 1400 indi-
vidual scenes were photographed. Normal
picture average is 650 The cast includes
fifty young men portraying roles as tough
paratroopers. Many of them were hired di-
rectly after release from the U. S. Armed
forces. Requests came to the studio from
five qualified women parachutists for parts
in the picture, but were denied due to War-
ners' attempt to give discharged servicemen
a chance at the parts. . . . Laddie Rucker,
grid star at Oregon State, was hired for
"run of the picture" shortly after discharge
from the Marines. At completion he was
rewarded for his good work with a con-
tract. . . . Picture was filmed entirely
away from the studio. During scenes in
Palm Springs, temperature hit 127 degrees.
This made it tough on the actors who had
to pack 65 pounds of equipment as para-
troopers. . . ■ Mickey Scott is an old
timer" Fans may remember him as a
member of the famous "Our Gang" com-
edies. Scott was married during filming
of the picture. He'd served overseas for
two years vrior to starting this one. . . .
Henry Hull returned to his dairy farm
in Connecticut upon completion of his
role. Announced plans for early resumption
of his radio career. Henry's two kids, Shir-
ley and Henry, Jr., departed during pro-
duction for overseas duty in the Pacific.
Both are serving with the parapack divi-
sion. . . . Most respected members of the
cast were the twenty-five foot python
trained by Albert Schloess, and a Bengal
tiger owned and trained by Lou Matthews!
HOLLYWOOD CANTEEN
Take a young soldier, wounded and sent
back to the States after two years in the
Pacific. Take a lovely little movie star
whom he's been dreaming about during
those two years. Bring them together at
the Hollywood Canteen, and you 11 get a
love story that will appeal to everyone.
Especially when the soldier is played by
Robert Hutton, who is handsome like
crazy and a good actor besides. The girl
in the case is Joan Leslie.
That's only a little of what "Hollywood
Canteen" has to offer. Stars pop m and
out of it like jacks-in-the-box. Famous
bands play your favorite kinds of music.
Comedians give with their funniest rou-
tines. And tying it all together is this sweet,
tender little love story.
You see, Slim (Robert Hutton) had a
girl when he went away to war. But she
forgot to write, and gradually he began
to think of Joan Leslie instead. When he
and his buddy, the Sergeant (Dane Clark) ,
are sent to a hospital near Hollywood and
then given five days' pass before being
sent back into action, of course he heads
for the Hollywood Canteen. Luck plays
INFORMATION DESK
(Questions of the Month)
By Beverly Linet
Hello:
Did you hear what I heard???
Bet
you didn't. But I'll be glad to tell
you ...
THAT — Van Johnson collects cash-
mere sweaters like mad . . . and
THAT — June Allyson can't get
enough of little china pigs . . . and
THAT — Your newest idol, Tom
Drake, was born with the moniker —
Alfred Alderdice . . . and
THAT — This terrific new pic,
"Weekend at the Waldorf," which
stars Ginger Rogers, Lana Turner,
Walter Pidgeon, Keenan Wynn and
Van Johnson, is really a remake of
"Grand Hotel," which Mom and big
sister saw some years back.
Yup, I've heard all that, and more,
too . . . so if you'd like to get "in the
know," ifs as easy as ABC. Just sit
down in your favorite corner, dash off
a couple of those pet questions of
yours and send them along with a
self-addressed, stamped envelope to
me at— INFORMATION DESK,
MODERN SCREEN, 149 Madison
Avenue, N. Y. C. I'll be waiting.
Bestus,
Bev.
Dorothy Robinson, Lexington, Ky.:
MAY 1 PLEASE HAVE THE
NAME OF THE MUSIC PLAYED
THROUGHOUT "LAURA," AND IS
IT AVAILABLE? . . . The piece ts
entitled "The Juggernaut" and as it
was just background music, it is not
available in either recorded or sheet
music form.
Selma Robinson, Kingston, N. C:
MAY I HAVE NANCY SINATRA'S,
NANCY SANDRA'S AND FRANK,
JR.'S BIRTHDATES? ... Nancy-
March 25th; Nancy Sandra — June
8th; Frank, Jr.— Jan. 10th. And for
good measure, the Sinatra wedding
anniversary falls on Feb. 4th.
Ann Glass, Bronx, N. Y .: WHO WAS
"GORDON" IN "LOUISIANA HAY-
RIDE"? SOME STATISTICS,
PLEASE. . . . That was Ross Hunter.
He was born in Cleveland, Ohio, on
May 6, 1920, is 6' 1" , 165 pounds,
• blond haired. Used to teach high
school. Real name — Martin Fuss and
can soon be seen in "A Girl, A Guy
And A Pal." Write Jean Gallager,
1302 W. 102nd Street, Cleveland,
Ohio, for info on his fan club.
along with Slim, and his first night there,
Fate (with a slight assist from Bette Davis
and John Garfield) brings him a kiss
from Joan. No wonder he is in a roseate
haze when he gets back to the Sarge, who
has been doing the town with a blonde.
"Seeing is believing," says the Sarge
firmly, so next night they both go to
the Canteen. Joan's not there but the
Sarge meets a voluptuous bundle ot pri-
meval urges named Angela (Jams Paige),
who makes his furlough an instant success.
The Canteen's an amazing place. Paul
Henreid washes dishes, Eddie Cantor sings
and clowns, and Jack Benny plays the
violin. There are so many pretty girls
it makes you dizzy, and as likely as not
they turn out to be Joan Crawford or
Barbara Stanwyck. Slim is the millionth
man to come into the Canteen so he wins
a weekend date with Joan Leslie. There
are complications— some funny, some sad,
all entertaining.
Dane Clark is a treat with his vitality and
wit. But Hutton is the dream boy!— War.
( SHE HAS IT! )
[fab lb StiJjiJv Susu
(her complexion needed it/ J
Tub
( AFTER SHE GOT (T/ )
/T/S TfMTWORy LOOK...YOCt CAN HAVE tT, TVO...
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Does your hair look dull,
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of any sort leaves a soap film which dulls
lustre, robs your hair of glamour! Change
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Drene nwer leaves any dulling film. That's
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TO OUR READERS...
Would you mind closing the door? There's a draft — and
besides I have a confession to make, and I hate strangers around.
Thanks. Well, now that we're alone, I'll give.
sales of our magazine. Don't ask how it happened,
sudden we've got a circulation of a million
It's about the
but all of a
and a half !. .
Isn't that awful? Remember when we were a carefree gang with only a
million to live
throw spitballs
up to? Used to kid around the office and
and whistle at all the pretty readers —
remember?... Well, those days are gone with the wind. Now we're
big shots, and you have to have an appointment to get whistled at.
Our 1,500,000 circulation puts us among the top
magazines of the nation... for that matter, of
darned world. And our ten color pages actually
the whole
put us
in a class by ourselves. What with Hedda Hopper, Fanny Hurst and Louella
Parsons (alphabetical order),
we cover movies like an
arc light... But, ladies, can't we still be friends? Don't be too hard on a
^O^^- couple -of unhappy big shots. Basically we're nice, clean
American boys. And I was only kidding when I made that remark
about us not whistling at you any more. Heck, just try us !
Al
DelaGorte
/"""%
Henry Malmgreen
When Jeonne was born May 25 1925, -in Barstow, Ca ,f.. her dad gave u smging
career for higher paid job as Coordinator of Education ,n Ing ewood H.gh She
claTms "Winged Victory' co-star Lon McCallister is very good feend-,t s not love!
SWEET
AND
LOVELY
■ On practically any night in the Gain household
you may find the radio turned to the current quiz
program. This has been the state of affairs for as
long as the girls can remember.
Father Gain, a teacher in Inglewood High
School — a suburb near Los Angeles — has always
maintained that a few stray bits of knowledge
picked up from radio contests will damage no
one's mental equipment. Name 7 states that be-
gin with the letter M; what is the date of
the Norman conquest? How many eggs does the
average chicken lay in a year? Who is Secretary
of the Navy? In case both the President of the
United States and the Vice-President die, who
becomes President?
It became the (Continued on following page)
Drives her mom crazy by appearing in kitchen to cook her tried eggs
and bacon breakfasts, clad in filmiest, drapiest negligee in closet.
5' 4l/2" tall, she eats everything, never gains a pound over I I*.
30
r
1
If*
(met $>ojaO^\
Jeanne's jobs on maidless days are setting table, making
beds. She won innumerable beauty contests and posed
for so many leg art pics, she was nicknamed "The Form."
Although she gets a kick out of family album, she won't-let anyone outside the family lay a hand on it. Considers hei
juvenife self worse than repulsive. Sits by hour- listening to Madame Pitoeff tell1 of experiences on European stage
Oft M— n . itt*
She's adept at figure-skating, dancing, spurns l'^"0?'"9- $ 2£*°
weekly salary is divvied; 25% for War Bonds, 25% for trust fund;
rest to agent, clothes. She owns white lamb coat, yearns for m.nkl
SWEET
AND
LOVELY
Crain habit for the girls to call out the answers, and
they were very accurate most of the time. Jeanne
was so good that she won a quiz contest at St. Mary's
Academy — as a Ninth Grader — and was entered in
a city-wide contest that was broadcast over the radio.
It was the first time Jeanne had ever faced a mi-
crophone. When her first question was fired at her,
Jeanne swallowed hard, looked at the iron ear await-
ing her reply and decided that the only sharp con-
testant was the one safely sitting on a hassock in her
own living room . . . about forty miles from the near-
est microphone. Then, from somewhere, the correct
answer popped into her mind. Whew! A close one.
Her second problem Was easy: Name ten state capi-
tals. Even her third question — although she doesn't
remember it nowadays — was no brain-cracker. The
fourth went off like a breeze, too. But the fifth. Try
this on your encyclopedia: In what year did Caesar
complete his conquest of Gaul?
Jeanne was taking Latin; she had floundered her
way through that celebrated seventeenth chapter deal-
ing with the construction of a pontoon bridge. She
knew "Omnis Gallia in tres partes divisa est." But
she didn't know that date. She had to ^ive up, and
this omission of knowledge dropped her rating into
second place.
She felt badly about it; she could visualize her
family sitting around the radio, rooting for her and
being disappointed when she couldn't win.
However, like Caesar, she carried home some of
the spoils of war: As second place contestant she was
awarded three dollars in cash and ten pounds of
sausage. It was the sausage that impressed the family.
They had sausage for breakfast, luncheon and dinner
for a week in order to use it up. To this day no one
in the Crain household ever describes success as
"bringing home the bacon." It is "bringing home the
sausage."
Jeanne felt better about the whole thing when she
learned that her father had gone scurrying to the
nearest ancient history tome when he heard the ques-
tion. In case you've been worried, too Caesar licked
Gaul in 51 B.C. when he was fifty-one years old.
When Jeanne was fifteen and a half, she attended a
candid camera night at which lens hounds were photo-
graphing a popular dance band. It was customary
at affairs of 'this kind for a girl to be selected from
the audience for the picture-snappers to pose with the
band leader, or alone— if she were photogenic
enough. Jeanne was snatched from the observers*
ranks one night and caused a mild sensation. There
was no band leader beside her. When the boys couldn't
remember her name, they called her Eyelashes. "Hey,
Eyelashes, how about that left profile?^ Oh, swell.
Now, how about a big smile, Eyelashes?"
As her reward in the contest, Jeanne and some of
the other girls who had taken part were guests of
the RKO studios. They had luncheon in the studio
commissary and tried hard not to squeal when Cary
Grant came in. It was the first trip of any of them
to a picture lot, and they could scarcely eat, for oogl-
ing. A group of extras in Gay Nineties outfits came
in; Lupe Velez stormed through the room and into
the kitchen, where she selected her luncheon from the
stove, then returned to a nearby table. The girls were
mightily impressed with all this. Orson Welles, eat-
ing close by, summoned the publicity man who was
showing the girls through the studio and asked him
who the girl with the red-brown, curly hair was.
The publicity man explained and returned to the
table to say in a careful aside to Jeanne, "Mr. Welles
would be very much pleased if you and I would join
him in his office this afternoon at four for tea."
Jeanne didn't actually swoon, but she had the
general sensation. Tea — in Orson Welles' office!
With her feet treading air six inches from the ground,
Jeanne followed the touring party around the lot.
She saw the hand props department — very interest-
ing. She watched part of the shooting on a new "Fal-
con" picture. She caught sight of Ginger Rogers en
route to the portrait gallery. But all this she glimpsed
through the haze of roseate dreams: She was to have
tea with Mr. Welles at four o'clock.
In his office, she found him to be charming . . .
and understanding. He sensed her tension, her breath-
lessness. "Like magic? ".be asked. Without waiting
for an answer he picked up a red silk handkerchief
and turned it to blue. He put a bit of thread in his
mouth, then a needle and pulled them out, threaded
together. Jeanne laughed and forgot her nervousness.
Then Mr. Welles explained that he was looking for
a girl to play the romantic lead in "The Magnificent
Ambersons," and he thought Jeanne might be right.
He gave -her ten pages of-dialogue, told her to memo-
rize it and return three days later for a screen test.
The script under her arm, Jeanne turned at the
door to say, "Mr. Welles, may I please have your
autograph?" Her voice was very slim and apologetic.
It was the first autograph for which she had ever asked.
Mr. Welles snatched a large piece of paper and,
beaming, scrawled his signature. That was one of the
most wonderful moments in Jeanne's life to date.
The following few days were hectic. She couldn't
sleep at night without fitful dreams of coming down
with measles the day before the test or facing the
camera and forgetting every syllable she had mem-
orized or tripping and falbng flat on her face.
But when the crucial moment arrived, she did none
of those frightening things. (Continued on page 75)
A serious reader, her favorite authors are Shakespeare, French
writers in the original. As a kid she wanted to b,e an artist,
still dashes off witty caricatures of fellow-players on set.
Jeanne's signing these NAA cards we're offering on page 62. You
probably saw her on covers of Coronet and Ladies Home Journal,
when she was New York model, before coming to Hollywood.
33
IIAMTR VMCI.
■ An anxious Hollywood hostess caught John
Hodiak on the phone one afternoon last month.
"John," she began in a worried voice, "1 know
it's awfully late— but can you please come to
dinner tonight?"
"Gee," boomed John in that husky he-man's
voice of his, "I'd love to, but there's something
else I ought to do. I — '
"It's awfully important to me," broke in. the
lady, desperately, "you don't know how im-
portant!"
Big John swallowed hard. He thought of the
Hollywood girl who had planted her foot in the
door of his apartment and refused to budge until
he told her, yes, he thought she was pretty. His,
mind flashed to the feminine phone fan who got
hold of his number and called him every mid-
night until he had to say regretfully, "I know
it's not nice to hang up on a lady, but I can't
talk any longer!" He thought of all the funny,
strange, puzzling things that had happened in
Hollywood since he made "Lifeboat" and "Mar-
riage is a Private Affair." It made him dizzy.
He was stammering into the receiver when the
lady cleared it up.
"My maid," she (Cont'd on following page)
ohn indulges in ties, but wears and rewears some two or th ee
vardrobe's scant, but he has no yen to enlarge That beard
must grow thick and flowy for "Bell for Adano.
J
W
in early stages;
Dad hasn't vacationed since 1912, despises loafing around the
house When he found Douglas plant within walking distance
of house, he wanted job. But John insists parents take it easy.
Calls self "Johnny," can't stand any other
nickname, was shocked by casual H'wood
"darling," etc. He means it when he says it!
Like a kid who gets in free at a
circus, John Hodiak can't believe this
wonderful thing is happening to him!
During brother's stay, Mom surprised them all with their favorite old
Ukrainian dishes and borscht. Only 3 gals he dates are Judy Garland
June Allyson, Anne Baxter. Next pic's "Sunday Dinner for a Soldier'''
Mom took him at his word to get rid of all furnishings before
heading West, sold irreplaceable radio-vie! First celebration in
new house was weekend visit from brother from Como Hahn.
To rumors ot romance with Anne Baxter, John declares he won t wed until he buys
home for parents and has enough money left over to support wife. Mom wants
farm where she can raise chickens and pigs. Most likely spot: San Fernando Valley.
Hates dolling up. lives in old togs ground the house ^ThtZVld^
explained, "says she'll quit unless I get
you here for dinner. She's simply wild
about you! And you know how scarce
maids are these days! Please don't let
me down!"
Well— with it put right up to him like
that, what could John do? He accepted.
His friend's maid, by the way, has been
happy in her work ever since. She's got
an autographed picture of Hodie in her
room. It belongs to the lady of the
house (John gave his hostess one)— so
how can the maid ever threaten to
leave?
It's pretty hard for a plain, straight-
thinking, modest Hunky guy from Ham-
tramck, Michigan, to get himself geared
to all that's been happening to him in
the past year. Sometimes Hodie gets as
mixed up inside as a chef's salad at his
new-found fame. Like a kid who gets in
free at a circus, he can't quite believe
it's true.
Right after "Lifeboat," John found
himself at a big Beverly Hills cocktail
party at Romanoff's for Tallulah Bank-
head. The whole Hollywood roster of
Big Names were elbowing each other
out of the way in Prince Mike's bistro.
You could hardly breathe for all the
Big League glamour that cluttered up
the place. Somewhere in the ritzy crush
John Hodiak was busy staring from left
to right and then around in circles with
his grin a mile wide and his eyes shining
like traffic lights. Suddenly, he started
bopping himself sharply on the temple
with his knuckles. A watchful waiter
stepped up.
"The gentleman has a headache —
yes?" he asked politely. "Perhaps a
bromo-seltzer or an aspirin? The cooL
air?
6 K " ' 3< in double b^.eor. bri,ht. bright pyiam.. upper, and lo«.r..
e
or
John shook his head happily. "No
headache," he grinned. "No aspirin.
No I'm just checking up to see if I'm
really here with all these famous peo-
ple!"
"But obviously, you're here," mur-
mured the waiter, giving John a queer
look and sidling off warily as though he
thought the guy was nuts.
John swears he hasn't slept a solid
night since he arrived in Hollywood—
and he's been home and in the hay early
most nights, too. The reason he can't
drift off to dreamland is because the
36
minute he stretches out, his mind revs
up like a Mustang motor — thinking
about what's happened that day and
what goes on tomorrow. Making plans
and having hunches. Getting ideas and
inspirations. Dreaming exciting, wide-
awake dreams.
Because there's no actor or actress vin
Hollywood brimming with bounce like
Hodie. He's loaded with more potential
volts than Boulder Dam and happy as
Heaven about the whole thing. If he
doesn't blow up from spontaneous com-
bustion, John is set for the time of his
life from now on. Already, once or
twice he's come prettv close to flying off
into a billion Hodiak atoms from pure
enthusiasm.
Hodie's most Horrible Moment, he'll
tell you, came the first day he faced a
Hollywood camera to speak his piece. It
was with Red Skelton in "I Dood It"—
not anything to bid for an Academy
award, but to John it was — as every-
thing is — the most important job in his
life. They gave him five pages of dia-
logue to take home, and said, "We'll
shoot it in the morning." John stayed
up all night memorizing his dialogue
backwards and forwards. He came to
work pepped up like a doughboy on
D-Day. He arrived an hour early and sat
around all morning jumping out of his
chair with a "Coach, lemme in!" look
every time the director glanced his way.
Finally he got a nod, and he bounced
across the set.
"We've rewritten your part," the di-
rector said. "Here's five more pages."
John learned those. He sat and fid-
geted. He sat and fidgeted some more.
He got another nod. Again he shot
across the stage like a substitute quar-
terback in the Big Game. "Here's an-
other re-write," yawned the director
again. "Learn this."
Well, I won't go int6 the sad tale,
spasm by spasm. Except to say that
there turned out to be four new scripts
for John to learn on the set, a couple of
changes of wardrobe, a beard to be put
on and then a beard to be taken off, and
a whole day to wait trembling on the
edge of his big moment. When they fi-
nally did get to Hodie — around quitting
time — he was as woozy as a chameleon
on a crazy-quilt (Continued on page 86)
THE II KM ^
1 1 V VITU VVK Ii
By Hedda Hopper
It
d in
Claudette started building house year before morrioge r
l • j MPVer.sets foot in ktehen, runs household with cook,
"aid and peZoTl^, to whom she's strictly "Mrs. Pressman.
Because she's what every woman wants to be— a touch
ot Paris, an adored wife, and the type who never gets fat!
■ One day the phone rang. Miss Colbert, and she
wasn't kidding.
"What's this in your column about my playing
Shirley Temple's mother?"
I'd mentioned her-along with Roz Russell and Irene
Dunne-as a possibility for Ann Hilton in "Since You
Went Away."
"Sounds to me," she said, "like another of those
Scarlett O'Hara guessing games. Anyway, I'm not play-
ing it, so count me out."
A couple of months later she'd signed to play the
part Why? Because she's an actress.
I'm perfectly ready to admit I had my finger m that
pie-in fact, I'll brag about it. I ran the item because
I knew-never mind how-that David Selznick wanted
her. I also knew her first instinct would be against
it, and I didn't blame her. Because in our town, given
an attractive young woman who agrees to play the
mother of grown children and, before you know it,
they'll be after her to play Whistler's granny.
On the other hand, 1 felt she'd be ideal in the role-
with just the right combination of humor and dignity
and grace. So I decided to stir up a little action David
hadn't yet sounded her out. To tell the truth, I think he
was a little scared. All he'd done was tell her the story
at a dinner party. But, as Claudette remarked later:
"At dinner parties, people always tell you plots-some
good, some bad— so you can go home and forget em.
Well my little bombshell served its purpose, bhe
got mad. She wasn't having any of that Gone-With-
The-Wind stuff, and so she instructed her agent to
inform David. What went on between those two is
something else again. Because a month goes by, and
the agent comes to Claudette. (Continued on page 81)
38
Tho' she sutlers over letter-writing, she dutifully scrawls V-mail to
Jack every other day. Despaired when only 3 of first 20 she sent ever
reached him! Enlisting 6 mos. before Pearl Harbor, he's with Pacific fleet.
When French poodle from Jack died, she was so broken up that brother
Charles donated replacement named Missy. She buys enormously expen-
sive suits, wears them for 8 years running! Her next pic's "Practically Yours."
39
Bing spotlighted the unknown entertainers with him so they d
come home stars. In England, they played and sang for Col.
Elliott Roosevelt and Lt.-Col. Shoupe at Officers Quarters.
Bing asked visiting Fred Astaire, "Will I live?" as Army nurses prepared
hypos prior to embarkation. Bing's been voted most popular ©.I. re-
quest " is planning Alaskan tour at own expense plus a Pacific solo trek.
Crosby a hero? Now. All he did wos croon m the Kraufs bock
yard, swap gab, bring home 4000 miles closer for your Gl Joe.
der bingle"
■ People swoon. They write long letters putting the bite
on you for $73.50 to put their two-headed nephews
through college. They claw you half to death in your
favorite spaghetti joint and refuse forty Churchill auto-
graphs for one of yours and name all their children
after you. It's fun being Bing Crosby.
But darn it, let the crooner ache after a mere egg
when he's 4000 miles from home and pronto, his name's
mud!
As Bingo puts it, "At first it's a relief to be where no-
body knows you, no jams, no autographs, just rolling
along with the rest of 'em. But finally it gets downright
embarrassing. Especially when you're hungry and
would like to grab off something extra to eat,"
He can make you howl telling about an occasion when
he put on his best Sunday celeb manner and tried to
wangle an egg or two. He turned on the charm— both
vocal and otherwise— and said he'd like an egg, prefer-
ably king-size.
"I am de chanteuse de American," he said import-
antly. . ,
"Oui, Monsieur," they said politely with a so-what-isn
expression.
"Connaissez-vous 'Le Big Broadcast'?" he asked.
"Non," they shook their heads.
" 'Sing You Sinners'?" went on Bing.
"Non."
"Le Kraft Music Hall," he asked a little desperately.
40
By Maxine Arnold
Crosby forced his pet tie on the G.I. who sighed he'd "sure like to have
it — for after." Bing, plus Hope, MacMurray, Colbert, is quitting Par.
to concentrate on own company. Trademark? Pork-pie hat and pipe!
Still no egg.
Then he started crooning . . . "When the Blue of the
Night Meets the Gold of the Day" — and looked up ex-
pectantly.
They listened with interest but no previous recollec-
tions. Also no egg. It had been a long time since the
blue of the night met the gold of the day in blacked-out
France.
So Bing gave them the $64.00 question.
"Connaissez-vous BING CROSBY?"
They shook their heads.
"I must've laid many an egg there myself years ago,"
grins Bing.
And harkening back to that [Continued on page 126)
Bing (above) surprised newsmen at Waldort press conference by giv-
ing lengthy interview — about terrific G.l.'s. Waifs Monique and baby
sister (below) "adopted" him in home town of Commercy, France.
■ She lives in the 20th century, so she's more like
Jane in "Since You Went Away" than Bernadette.
Just the same, she has the quality of both girls.
What clinched Bernadette for her was the vision
scene. The choice -had been narrowed down to six.
They were all being tested, and they were all told to
imagine The Lady of The Vision beyond the cam-
era—
After the tests had been run, Henry King said:
"There's no sense in looking any further. The others
are all capable actresses. Jennifer's the only one who
saw the Vision — "
She's had three most exciting days in her life:
The day David 0. Selznick signed her to a personal
contract and changed her name to Jennifer Jones.
When he said plain Jones, she couldn't believe her
ears. Putting Jennifer in front of it made it sound
lovely.
The day producer William Perlberg told her she'd
been cast as Bernadette. She tried to call Bob in
New York and couldn't reach him. He was on his
way to Hollywood to surprise her, with an M-G-M
contract in his pocket. She tried to call her mother
and dad, and couldn't reach them. So she celebrated
with Henry, her maid, who danced round the room
and sang hallelujah.
The day she got the Academy Award. She felt
she didn't deserve it as much as Ingrid Bergman, for
instance, who'd done so many wonderful things. Yet
she couldn't help being thrilled from her scalp to
the tips of her toes. Only (Continued on page 110)
20th filed a $600,000 suit against Jen when she- refused
do "Laura," but when Gene Tierney made pic a hit, all
forgiven. (Exiting from a long-ago Selznick party a dei
42
What do you do when you're very young and aching
to act and your heart starts slowly breakiny?
Jen's new Bel-Air home's been burgled 3 times and always on week-
ends when she's at Palm Springs with her boys. 'Tis said Selznlclt
drows $7000 per for her services, with Jen getting but $1750 of it.
The not-yet-divorced Walkers often date but vow those
tender "SYWA" love scenes are ersatz. While Jen was
off p.a.-ing, Bob bunked in at her place to tend kids.
Grateful make-up man on "Bernadette" baked her a
cake "for not using lipstick!" In Wash., she guested at
Catholic Univ's stage version of pic. (With Van at CBS.)
43
By Virginia Wilson
Fronkie's slated for a gag duet with Fred
Allen soon, just heard that N. Y. Para, egg
thrower received $10 from reporter for deed.
Frankie's first week at the Paramount netted $98,000, and though
he parted from his vitamin sponsor, he'll still pull highest 1944 in-
come in world — $1,535,000! (Hot-footing Arranger Alex Stordahl."
It's a cry that rings from speed*
ing taxis, echoes on street corners,
bursts from 500,000 Sinatrites.
WE LOVE YOU!"
Ben Marden's Riviera may reopen as the Club
Sinatra at same time F. produces, backs "The Jazz
Singer." (Signing NAA cards offered on p. 62.)
■ This was always^ the moment of almost unbearable
excitement just before the broadcast began. Jban
sat tense, leaning forward, her slim shoulder touch-
ing Katie's plump one. \
"What do you suppose he'll sing first?" she
whispered.
"Maybe 'Long Ago And Far Away.' Honestly,
when he sings that I could just die, it's so beau-
tiful." Katie , rolled her brown eyes.
"S-sh-sh! Here he comes!"
There was a sudden electric hush, \ and Joan felt
as if the breath were sliding right out of her.
Then Frank strolled onto the stage, and everyone
burst into wild applause. He was wearing the
checked tan jacket that Joan and Katie liked best,
and "The sweater!" {Continued on folloiving page)
'FRANK IE. WE LOVE VOLT*
Katie said softly. "It's the one we sent him." It
was, too. Joan stared at it, and a glow of happiness
crept through her. He liked the sweater well enough
to wear it for a broadcast! That made up for all
the things she had gone without to save her share
of the price. Katie, of course, had plenty of money
— -it hadn't been important to her.
The kids were all clapping and squealing like mad
now, as Frank stood there, one hand on the mike.
"Those new fans," Joan said disapprovingly. "They
don't know how to act."
Frank raised his hand, and the hush came back.
His tanned face was serious. His voice was serious,
too. He said, "Look. I'm not kidding about this. I
like you to like my songs — {Continued on page 76)
Hubby gifted Nancy, the'family banker, with a diamond
brooch "the size of a saucer"' when she returned -from
the hospital. They're praying new maid "will like us."
New Sinatra home, "Warm Valley," is located on Toluca Lake in North Hollywood. Kids' red, yellow,
blue playroom is partitioned off large upstairs balcony by tiny white picket fence. Shelves were specially
built for toys sent Frank, Jr., and Nancy Sandra by fans. F.'s next pic: "Anchors Aweigh."
4?
.2SES
Dee spent her time off from "Can't Help Singing" hunting un-
rationed shoes, buying 2 and 3 pairs. Incidentally, wardrobe
for the pic was copied from patterns of a 1905 Paris belle.
Exhausted from 4:30 a.m. studio calls, Deanno sleeps late on vocat,ons, shops
at Adrian and Howard Greer, catches up on best sellers she s m.ssed.
Hiring new help recently, she had to take their two dogs,, too— or else.
48
■ Is she or is she ain't Bob Landry's lady? Bob being
the LIFE photog just back from overseas who's been
wining and dining our Dee like mad — and since when
do childhood sweethearts sigh at each other like that?
Right now, Deanna's busy poking around art shoppes,
agonizing over those extra 10 pounds . . . And here's
how she got 'em: Some of the kids drop in "just for a
minnit." Then Alma, who cooks like an angel, whips
up a buffet, the beer gets poured and from the den
comes jive from the Hammond organ. Or from the
harp being plinked in the living room. Before you
know, it's a wee hour in the a.m., and you wouldn't
want the gang to starve so — more wienies coming up!
Dee takes daily voice lessons. Tho' her ambi-
tion's opera, she turned down the Chi. Civic
Opera Co.'s invitation to appear — too busy.
The new bedroom boasts tea cozies from Russian War Relief, a photo of nephew Dickie and rare perfumes hoarded from last Xmos
m ■
During Santa Monica hitch filming "Winged Victory," Lon
was hooked for labor detail just once, latrine duty one
week. Chores were made merry by crew of comedians.
Dueted with Jeanne Crain at ' Wl son premiere, ran into
■ Maria Montez. He still writes buddies at Camp Crowder
wonders where hell go at end of "Victory tour ,n . April!
The extra roles went on and oh, but there was always
the warmth of home, friends, books. Life story, part II.
Before leaving H'wood for Frisco with "Winged Victory" troupe,
he paid special farewell visit to neighbor Lee Mueller, a worship-
per ever since Lon taught him technical handling of toy gun!
■ The brilliant shooting star of Lon McCallister
is a heartening miracle of modern day Hollywood.
Although the magic days of Cinderella boys and
girls in the fabled movie city are supposed to be
dead and gone, Lon has proved that over the rain-
bow and across high studio walls the pot of gold
and the crown of fame still lie. The glass slipper
still waits for the right youth to fill it.
But Lon McCallister didn't even look like the
right youth. He was a local boy; stars seldom
come from Hollywood home town boys. He was
an extra from Junior high days on, and "once an
extra always an extra" is a Hollywood conviction.
Besides, Lon had no ambitions to be a star;
at first he only wanted to help his financially
pressed family— his (Continued on page 115)
By Kirtley Baskette
n
Next to Mom, Farley's best gals are June Haver (below
and Vee MacDowall. The only fault he has to find with
Mom is she won't wear clothes gay enough to suit him.
Home on 3-day leave, before shipping out, Farley revelled in clean sheets
ahd late hours. Born Farley Earle Granger II, in San Jose, Calif., July I,
1925 he was an only child. Weighed in Navy 6'l/4" tall, 159 pounds.
On deck behind his broom, S/C
Farley Granger dreams of home and
ice cream and snowy white sheets .
Cinderella boy
High spot in Farley's life as gob at Shoemaker Receiving Station
was running into Roddy MacDowall and H'wood gang. Boys talked
shop about Roddy's exciting rcle in "Keys of the Kingdom."
■ One afternoon last February a tall, merry-
eyed, good-looking kid stood stripped to his
birthday suit at the Los Angeles Service
Induction Center while1 docs gave him the med-
ical once-over. They banged him on the chest
and listened.
"Perfect!" they said.
They jumped him up and down and listened
somewhere else.
"Perfect!"
They swatted him here and there, squinted
down his throat, poked things in his ears and
burned a baby spot into his shiny brown eyes.
They stuck him with needles and tested this
and that. They photographed his insides in
Technicolor and wired him outside for sound.
And every time they (Continued on page 92)
By James Carson
big bad wolf
Don't believe all you hear! One of Helmut
Dantine's hottest romances was a phantom . . .
■ One recent afternoon Helmut Dantine rolled his
car into a Hollywood gas station, and a pretty little
blonde attendant bobbed out to serve him. Helmut
chatted away pleasantly while the lady gave him
gas, wiped his windshield, pumped his tires and
filled his radiator. He rewarded her with the cor-
rect cash, an "A" coupon and a flashing Dantine
siriile and roared off, unsuspecting that a studio
press agent had observed the little scene and cried
"Yoicks!" or "Tally Ho!" or whatever a press agent
cries when he is cracked over the head with a
terrific idea.
No sooner had Helmut entered his dressing room
than the press agent appeared, frothing like a
bubble-bath with inspiration.
"It's like this, Helmut," he explained. "You
date up the gas station cutie — see? You give her
a whirl at the Hollywood night clubs, we take pic-
tures, and it hits the papers. 'Hollywood Wolf
Woos Pretty Windshield Wiperette!' Get it?"
"Go away," grinned Helmut, "I don't even know
the girl."
"Come, come!" urged the p.a. impatiently, "don't
be juvenile. What difference does that make? It's
a terrific idea."
"Are you kidding?" said Dantine, with a look
that meant business.
He thought that ended it and forgot all about it.
The next thing he knew Helmut was staring at printed
pictures of himself — (it said in large print) —
helping the pretty little greaseball, all dolled up
in evening clothes, out of his car in front of Holly-
wood's fancy dancery, Mocambo! "Hollywood Wolf
Gives Gorgeous Girl Greaseball Night Club Whirl,"
he read. "Helmut Dantine escorts So-and-So, his
A-Coupon Cutie, to Mocambo for an evening of fun."
Well — Helmut couldn't believe his bright grey
eyes. He hadn't seen the girl since that day, but
there she was — he hadn't been (Continued on page 98)
Helmut lives in a one-room, $50-a-month apartment with daily
maid service. But he does laundry, mending, marketing. Likes
to eat alone at drugstore counter, take long walks to think.
Conscientiously tends to fan mail, piling in on "H'wood Can-
teen" set. Yens to write fiction and occasionally scratches
away but won't show result to anyone. Calls friends "Creeps."
By Struthers Holt
I
.t s easy to see why her tall blond
Navy fiance adores Patricia!
There is a bright, warm aliveness
about her that is infinitelv endearing —
and she is so lovely to look at! Eves of
deep, sparkling brown . . . rich, glossy
hair . . . and from the tip of her little
pointed chin to the top of her smooth
high brow, a skin as arrestingly beau-
tiful as a new -opened rose.
Like so many other engaged girls.
Patricia trusts her flawless complexion
to Pond s Cold Cream.
"1 began using Pond's when I was in
college at Northwestern — and loved it
right from the start — it's such a
soothing, silky-textured cream!
"Then, while I was studying acting
and stage make-up at the American
Academy of Dramatic Art, I grew to
respect Pond's more and more. It does
such a grand job of removing make-up
and of keeping my skin really clean
and reallv smooth!"
Patricia has a pixie charm — dancing eyes and a glowing, ivory-smooth skin
c3
CHARLES CHOSE
this square-cut, beauti-
fully mounted 2!4-carat
diamond for Patricia.
AT THE STATION,
Patricia and Charles
silently share the
memory of wonderful
days together. Till
Victory, Patricia is
writing for The Nyack
U.S.O. Councilor, serv-
icemen's newspaper, .
Patricia's complexion is disarminglv fresh
and sweet — a lovely tribute to her dailv
Pond's beautv creamings —
Every night, every morning, Patricia
smooths Pond's Cold Cream over her
face and throat. Pats to soften and release
dirt, make-up. Tissues off.
She rinses with more snowy-satin
Pond's, whirling finger tips lightly over her
face for extra cleansing, extra softening.
Tissues off. "My double Pond's creaming
makes my skin feel so blissfully smooth,"
Patricia says.
Give your face this Pond's beauty care.
You'll see that it's no accident so manv
more girls and women use Pond's than
any other face cream at any price.
Ask for the big jar — you'll love being
able to dip the fingers of both hands in
the luxurious big jar \
Pcmdd Soctep Beautieo
LADY LOUIS MOUNTBATTEN
MRS. PIERPONT MORGAN HAMILTON
MRS. ROBERT BACON WHITNEY
THE LADY MORRIS
GLORIA VANDERBILT DE CICCO
57
As a kid, Louise Allbritton busted
her nose and rode around in a chintz-
cushioned jaloppy— but look at her now!
Louise is first femme player to get Pasadena Playhouse Award for
top newcomer of year. Just back from Europe, she's hankering for
Pacific tour. She's opposite Turhan Bey in "A Night in Paradise."
■ A tomboy — that's what they called Louise All-
britton! It's hard to think of this sophisticate as a
roughneck, but at eleven she carried on like a Dead
Ender. Tore around Wichita, Texas, in blue jeans,
an old gingham shirt and tennis shoes, to her mother's
horror. Even Dad put the clamps on it when she
ran home one day crying and dripping blood like a
leaky faucet. Seems Mutt— that's the name her family
dreamed up for her — was playing football and made
a three-point tackle into a water hydrant, breaking
her saucy nose. From then on the Allbrittons tried
to persuade Mutt to leave the rough stuff to her
brother Larry and be a carbon of her sister Eliza-
beth, whose feminine leanings made her very Belle-
of-Wichita-ish. But it was tough on Mutt and re-
bellion came second nature.
Whenever life for the youngest Allbritton was just
one scolding] too many, she'd trudge stolidly down to
the river, a half a mile from home, and contemplate
the joys of the hobo. Somehow they always found
her stretched out on the river bank, her blonde
be-pigtailed head resting on defiant, clenched little
fists, and somehow, too, they'd always wheedle her
into going back home and (Continued on page 64)
By Ann Ward
HOLLYWOOD
COLD WAVE
PERMANENTS
LIKE THIS AT HOME
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y Millions of Satisfied Women
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y this Hollywood time-tested way to a
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id us the unused portions and we'll im-
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ply in the comfort of your own home
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ur permanent is completed all ready
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AUDREY LONG
the RKO Radio Picture
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For Every Type • Every Color Hair!
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ave for home use. At drug, depart-
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ounce bottles of DeLuxe Quality Wa
Set, and also two extra packages of Oli
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withdraw this free offer at any time. Tal
advantage of it now!
Ask for the original, genuine Hollywoc
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your nearest drug, department, or 5-K
store. 94c for the ECONOMY SIZE Ki
(contains two complete permanents i
cost of only 47c each) or 57c for th
REGULAR SIZE Kit, containing or
permanent. If your dealer can't supp]
you, use this coupon for shipment direi
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Send No Money! Mail This Coupon Today!
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57' plus taxes
* Double Economy Size contain- Cfc/fl «
ing 2 complete Permanents . . . ~m
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plus taxes L .
MOVIE WAVE -Dept. 102
655 North Arden Boulevard
Hollywood 4, California
Please send me:
□ Economy size MOVIE WAVE Kits
Containing two Permanents .... at $1.00 (incl. taxes)
□ Regular Size MOVIE WAVE Kits . . at 60c (incl. taxes)
Check enclosed Q Money Order enclosed Q
Will pay Postman □
Name
Street or R.F.D. )
or P.O. Box >
City State
IMPORTANT: We will pay postage if you remit purchase
price with this order, saving you approximately 35c in
postage and C.O.D. expenses on the ECONOMY SIZE Kit
or 27c on the REGULAR SIZE Kit.
■ What's as exciting as your first date?
Heart-stopping as an encore by Frankie?
Well, lookit, that's easy! A print dress in
January, of course. You don't believe it?
Just watch the lads when you turn up at the
next Sunday night session in any one of
these sweet jobs we've chosen for you. You
in Technicolor— the other poor gals slogging
along in black and white. It's sabotage, kids,
but it's fun. Huge fun if you try Jean SuUi-
van's trick — real flowers to match the ones in
the fabric. Imagine, just one slick little dress
is the answer to all those clothes dithers. For
the blind date with that smooth new boy
friend, the new print of course. For the
speech in Assembly you've gotten yourself
into, for church, for prancing on the arm of a
sailor on leave, for hypo-ing a dying romance,
for supercharging a trousseau — it's a gay,
new print every time. (Continued on page 63)
by Jean Kinkead and Ann Ward
Modern
Screen1 s
Fashion
Guide . •
60
P ;/ T A
with Ann Doran • Gwen Crawford • Noel Neill
Catherine Craig • Marjorie Henshaw
MARK SANDRICH
PRODUCTION
Directed by MARK SANDRICH
61
^tflmfinish Powder
gives Shirley Temple's skin that smooth
and 4lawless look . . .
Sweet - sixteen Shirley Temple, just
beginning to wear make-up, chooses
Woodbury Film-Finish Powder, made
for the stars and you! For that
screen -glamour -look you cherish!
New five-way blending creates stay-
liesb shades, smoother new' texture
that dings, hides lines and blemishes,
never clogs, cakes, nor turns pasty.
Choose fypirf eu)hi film -star shades!
SHIRLEY TEMPLE David O. Selznick player, co-starring
with Ginger Rogers and Joseph Cotten in "I'LL BE SEEING YOU". Shirley-
uses Windsor Rose to dramatize her medium pink-toned skin!
YOUR MATCHED MAKE-UP $1 . . . Now with your big
$1 box of Woodbury Powder, you get your glam-
our shades of matching lipstick and rouge ... at no
extra cost. No change in the box — all Woodbury
Powder now on sale is the new "Film-Finish."
Alio boxes of Woodbury Powder, 50<, 25<, I0<, plus lax
62
Woo
&>ury £1
AUTOGRAPHS !
Millions of 'em, well, anyhow, 156. Autographs
oi your favorite movie stars on cards stamped
with the genuine NAA emblem. And not only can
you get an autograph for 25 cents (the money,
incidentally, going to the NAVAL AID AUXILIARY
FUND for seamen and their families), but you can
pick up FIVE AUTOGRAPHS FOR ONE DOLLAR!
Five for the price of four— good deeds at a dis-
count!
June Allyson
Don Ameche
Mary Anderson
Dana Andrews
Lynn Bari
Lionel Barrymore
Anne Baxter
William Bendix
Joan Bennett
Ingrld Bergman
Turhan Bey
Janet Blair
Joan Blondell
Humphrey Bogart
Charles Boyer
Eddie Bracken
Barbara Britton
Jim Brown
Eddie Cantor
Claudette Colbert
Ronald Colman
Gary Cooper
Joseph Cotten
James Craig
Jeanne Grain
Dick Crane
Laird Cregar
Blng Crosby
Xavier Cugat
Helmut Dantlne
Linda Darnell
Bette Davis
Gloria De Haven
Olivia de Havllland
Tommy Dlx
Brian Donlevy
Tom Drake
Jimmy Durante
William Eythe
Jinx Falkenburg
Alice Paye
Errol Plynn
John Garfield
Judy Garland
Peggy Ann Garner
Greer Garson
Paulette Goddard
Betty Grable
Parley Granger
Cary Grant
Bonita Granville
Kathryn Grayson
Sidney Greenstreet
Alan Hale
Signe Hasso
June Haver
Dick Haymes
Susan Hayward
Rita Hayworth
Paul Henreid
Katharine Hepburn
John Hodiak
Bob Hope
Marsha Hunt-
Walter Huston
Betty Hutton
Bob Hutton
Harry James
Gloria Jean
Van Johnson
Jennifer Jones
Brenda Joyce
Danny Kaye
Gene Kelly
Kay Kyser
Alan Ladd
Hedy Lamarr
Dorothy Lamour
Carole Landis
Prlscllla Lane
Joan Leslie
John Loder
Myrna Loy
Ida Luplno
Diana Lynn
Roddy McDowall
Lon McCalliater
Dorothy McGuire
Irene Manning
Trudy Marshall
Marilyn Maxwell
Ray Milland
Carmen Miranda
Thomas Mitchell
Maria Montez
George Montgomery
Constance Moore
Dennis Morgan
George Murphy
Lloyd Nolan
Jack Oakle
Merle Oberon
Margaret O'Brien
Virginia O'Brien
Donald O'Connor
Maureen O'Hara
Dennis O'Keefe
Michael O'Shea
John Payne
Gregory Peck
Susan Peters
Walter Pidgeon
William Powell
Tyrone Power
Frances Raflerty
George Raft
Ella Raines
Martha Raye
Ronald Reagan
Donna Reed
Ginger Rogers
Roy Rogers
Rosalind Russell
Ann Rutherford
Eddie Ryan
Peggy Ryan
Randolph Scott
Ann Sheridan
Dinah Shore
Phil Silvers
Ginny Simms
Frank Sinatra
Red Skelton
Alexis Smith
Ann Sothern
Barbara Stanwyck
Shirley Temple
Gene Tierney
Franchot Tone
Spencer Tracy
Sonny Tufts
Lana Turner
Robert Walker
Cornel Wilde
Esther Williams
Jane Withers
Monty Woolley
Teresa Wright
Jane Wyroan
Loretta Young
Robert Toung
I—
Enclosed please find 25c in
□ paper-wrapped coin, for cm
autographed by
□ stamps,
NAA card
I understand I am to enclose 25c for each j
additional autograph I request but that only .
$1.00 will now pay for 5 autographs.
My name is !
I I
I City
live at .
State
NAA EDITOR, MODERN SCREEN
9136 Sunset Blvd., Los Angeles 46, Calif.
You'll choose it wisely, girls, because this isn't
just a new dress; it's a new you. Maybe you've been
a mouse all your life, now you're kind of electric
and exciting. Maybe you've been a tomboy since
kindergarten, now suddenly you're feminine as a shot
of "Heaven Sent," dateable as Grable. ' See what we
mean? Just any old print won't do it.
In choosing your dress, study its line, the size of
the print, your own figure. Here are a couple of rules
to guide you. If you're small and chubby, a wee
print's for you. If you're tall, you can get away with
lots of splash. Be sure the colors do right by you.
No shocking pinks for redheads, no screaming hues
on baby-skinned blonds. And as for line, the darling
cap sleeves are new as next month's Modern Screen,
but they're strictly for the slim-armed. Have a look
at the Junior League Frock on cute Jean Sullivan who
appears in Warner Brothers' "Men Without Destiny."
It's wonderful, but if you have a bit of tennis bulge,
we'd suggest that honey of a shirtwaist job from
Jonathan Logan. Notice, too, the peplums and tunic
effects— they're terrific this spring. Fluted ones, like
the Stephanie original on Jean, help to camouflage
if you're on the hippy side.
About price, the tags on these are going to look
a bit steep, but the satisfaction (Continued on page 85)
MOVIE DATE ... Try this daisy-
fresh shirtwaist print by Dorris Varnum,
Spring-y in turquoise and white.
DANCING DATE . . . Why not this
Stephanie original in Cohama's "5 P.M." crepe?
Matching hat of zinnias and violets.
Modern Screen's
Fashion Guide. . •
Continued from page 60
PARTY DATE . . . Jean goes for
the tunic effect in this Sherle original
The fabric is Cohama's "Hanka-Sheer."
i
y PORTRAYS "MADAME GEORGE SAND"
/]/ IN COLUMBIA'S TECHNICOLOR PRODUCTION
UW1" "A SONG TO REMEMBER"
^ AND IN
SLACKS
Daring 100 years ago
—the smartest
fashion today
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(Continued from page 58)
taking piano lessons and ballet and diction,
so she wouldn't grow up to sound like the
Texas tomboy she was.
Ballet was just so much pirouetting, but
the diction lessons weren't too bad. Not
bad at all when they handed her all the
leads in the Jr. High plays. Then life
didn't seem too rough. She had Maggie
and Jiggs, her two pet terriers, and Dale,
a handsome beast of an airdale, and best
of all was her car— well, Mutt called it a
car. Even in High School, Mutt v/as short
on frills, long on athletics— literally. Her
talent for towering over every other
female in her class made her the star of
the basketball team and any other sport
you care to mention. Even so, school was
a good hike down the road from the All-
britton's Colonial house, so Mutt spent
her free time loitering around the local
junk yards, till one day she emerged with
a stripped down car. After much monkey -
wrenching and greasing, it started to putt.
It had wheels, a floor board and a kind of
seat— and it ran! It was the envy of every
boy in Wichita, till the day Mutt ap-
proached her vehicle — to find the seat
upholstered in ruffled chintz cushions.
Seems her Negro mammy didn't think it
fittin' and proper for a young lady to
cavort around in such an. unfeminine
jalopy, and sort of fixed things up.
But what really made a lady out of her
and caused her to grow up suddenly at 14,
was the death of her mother. Somehow,
Mutt's rowdy ways vanished, and she be-
gan to understand why her mother'd made
her curtsy and hang up her clothes and in
general, behave. Under a very kind neigh-
bor, Mrs. Yager, and her Negro mammy's
guidance, Mutt learned how to run the
house and the intricacies of budgeting,
marketing — everything. But more impor-
tant than knowing beans came by the
pound and carrots by the bunch, was the
sense of responsibility Louise developed.
Though the loss of her mother was a dread-
ful ache deep inside of her, she gained an
independence and confidence in herself
that turned her into a woman before her
time.
the lower depths . . .
Then, there was this boy — a friend of
Larry's, and what a dream he was! It
looked as though things were clicking, even
if she were only sixteen. One dreamy night
out in the back yard he put his arm around
her and actually — oh blissful bliss — kissed
her. Result, Mutt in the clouds, floating
gracefully around the ether till the next
morning — plop — she crashed down to a
very dismal earth. He liked her, sure, but
like a sister. His real love was an older
girl; his eyes were only for her!
The next man in her life was the Van
Johnson of Oklahoma TJ. They were in
the same class, only he was the president
of the works and a killer with the local
co-eds. He had a king-sized brain and
took a shine to Luke (in college "Mutt"
gave way to "Luke," except where the
family was concerned), and that was the
feather-in-cap that restored much of the
Allbritton prestige. Dad, on the other
hand, did much to deflate it. First of all,
he was doing his best to drive out that
bee in Mutt's bonnet that she wanted
to be an actress. Whipped her off to Okla-
homa, where she was born, to keep her in
front of and not behind, footlights. But
when he started giving his daughter lessons
in economics, the ego was doing somer-
saults. Seems that Mutt in college became
very clothes crazy, especially since she
was going steady with Mm. A girl just
can't wear the same outfit two dates in a
row. So she bought clothes, racks full,
and wrote checks for 'em. Budget difficul-
ties set in, so Dad had to set her straight
and teach her that what comes out of a
bank, must first go in.
's wonderful world . . .
After two years of dramatics at Okla-
homa, the bee in the bonnet was buzzing
around worse than ever, and finally Papa
Allbritton consented to Louise studying at
the Pasadena Playhouse. After four years
of this training Luke had no less than
six contract offers from H'wood. All the
talent scouts prowl around the Playhouse,
and they couldn't miss Luke — not 5' l^k"
of her. The way she carried herself, half
panther style; the way her clothes fit, and
her acting rated her a "find."
A bit bewildered, Louise waltzed herself
over to Warners', and the brothers pro-
ceeded to do a Gremlin job on her. Said
she was ugly, photographed like mud pies,
took nine tests to prove it. WB had better
go in a body to see their ugly duckling
plaving Lillian Russell, one of history's
famed beauties, in "Bowery to Broadway!"
Luke bethought herself of the other five
offers, got an agent and flourished her
neat hand on a Universal contract. They
thought she was beautiful — kept her busy
and for the first time she was earning
enough to return papa's checks uncashed.
Mutt, bubbling over with that "Oh-what-a-
beautiful-morning" feeling, decided she'd
just have to do something nice for some-
body. So, on the q. t., she paid an ex-fellow
struggler's tuition to the Playhouse.
It's wonderful gestures like that that
make her such a popularity queen. She's
chummy with scads of people, but her two
best pals are Marion Clark, a news writer
at CBS, and Deedee Allen, a cutter at
Columbia. They adore her for her really
quick-on-the-uptake banter and comfort-
able disposition. Only things that bother
'em are her hawk-like calory counting ways
and what Louise calls her noseyness. She's
so eager about her friends and what they
do that those who don't know the interest
is genuine, are apt to get a prying impres-
sion.
One place the Allbritton nose sniffed at
relentlessly was the Victory Committee's
office. So Louise and June Clyde and
George Raft and a whole bunch trotted
off to North Africa, Sicily, Italy, England,
the works. Part of it was heartbreaking.
Told blind boys what she looked like,
cracked jokes with guys practically dead
from pain, and sometimes just stood there
letting men starved for the sight of a
woman stare at her. The worst part about
it was having to control herself, to keep
from letting the guys know how much
it hurt to see them. But they taught her to
grin and put on the most terrific act of her
life, the way they did. Breakdowns were
out until she reached her own room.
But it wasn't all tears and bucking up.
Once in Sicily a considerate colonel had
the engineers rig up a shower for her and
put an MP. in charge of the tent while
the Allbritton ablutions were under way.
Somehow it got around that he wasn't
just guarding a tent full of military docu-
ments, and when Louise stuck her shiny,
scrubbed face through the flap, there
were five M.P.'s and a colonel grimly
guarding her privacy.
Now that she's back, Louise is nosing
around for a South Pacific jaunt. She's
also nosing around — but in a genteel sort
of way — for a husband. Please apply in
person. Blonde men on the tweedy side
preferred. Nothing under six feet need
apply. Main requisite: He must love
music, and Mutt. But who doesn't?
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MARRIAGE IS STRICTLY OKAY]
a*
■ Love can hit you like a block-buster, or it can
sneak up on you gradually so you hardly know
it's there. With Dana Andrews, it sneaked. Oh,
sure, he knew this Mary Todd. They'd been cast
in a play together at the Pasadena Playhouse
where they both were students. Alter that they
said "Hi" when they met backstage and smiled
politely. But did Dana's heart go into double
action when he saw her coming? Did he say to
himself, "This is it. This is the girl for me?"
Nothing of the kind. Idly, he thought that she
had pretty blonde hair and good teeth. Other-
wise she made no impression whatever. The
Playhouse was full of young actresses, and Dana
wasn't interested in any of them.
Maybe you think that Mary fell for him and
was carrying a secret torch all this time. Boy,
would you be wrong ! Dana was a great, big
handsome guy with dark curly hair and a breezy
Texas way about him. But Mary -was going in
for eccentric geniuses at this point. You know-r^
dark, intense characters who sit around biting
on smelly pipes and talking about Stanislavsky
and the future of the theater. Flamboyant, brood-
ing. Orson Welles-ish types with violent ideas
on practically everything. Dana wasn't like that
at all. He was far too normal, too every-day.
Why, you'd hardly even think he was an actor!
66
So nothing seemed to happen for a year
or so. Then Mary went away to play in
stock at Martha's Vineyard. There wasn't
much to do there except sit around, and
she put on thirty pounds. She came back
looking like an overweight cherub, and
Dana, who had a positive phobia about
plump females, was utterly disgusted. He
was certainly glad this Todd chick wasn't
anyone he was interested in. Imagine let-
ting yourself gain thirty pounds like that!
Didn't the girl have any strength of mind?
His indignation was so great it surprised
him a little.
Somehow, he began to pay more attention
to Mary now than he ever had when she
was thin. It made no sense, of course.
Sense or not, Dana found that when the
gang got together these nights after re-
hearsal, he always sat with Mary. She was
fun to talk to, and she knew so much about
the theater she made him dizzy. Someone
would mention a play produced back in
1902, and Mary could reel off the entire
cast and tell you what they'd been doing
ever since. Dana found himself looking
forward more and more to these evening
rendezvous. In fact, on the occasions when
Mary didn't show up, everything was very
dull indeed.
He would go home and lecture himself
sternly. "Andrews," he'd say, "you're a
dope. You're falling in love with this girl,
and she's a fat girl. You know you hate
fat women. So snap out of it, will you?"
But try as he would, he couldn't snap. Love
had sneaked up on him, and it was too late
to do anything about it. Except find out
if it had sneaked up on Mary, too.
About this time, Destiny, in the shape of
the Playhouse director, cast them together
in a play called "First Lady." Dana was
a handsome young Senator, and Mary was
a coy, moonlight-and-magnolia creature
from the Deep South. In the play the two
became engaged. And it seemed to Dana
a very fine idea to carry it over into real
life. By now he'd been seeing Mary pretty
regularly. He thought he had convinced
her that eccentric geniuses were all very
well in their way, but for a steady diet
there was nothing like a normal he-guy.
Or had he? Dana decided he'd better find
out. That night he cornered her back-
stage, and they sat down on a couple of
handy boxes.
Dana cleared his throat loudly. "You
know it's funny," he said, plunging in,
"the way these plays go. Uh— I mean,
you're cast with someone and you like 'em
a lot. Then the play's over, and maybe
they go away or something. I think it's too
bad." His dark eyes said a lot more. They
said, "I'm crazy about you."
Mary sat and made absent-minded
doodles with a pencil on her white skirt.
Not saying anything, but blushing a little.
The blush encouraged Dana.
"I wouldn't want us not to see each other
any more," he said positively.
"Uh-uh! Me neither." Mary looked up
at him then, her blue eyes serious.
"I've been wanting to kiss you for a long
time," Dana told her suddenly. He leaned
over and did it. Thoroughly. Thrills chased
themselves up and down Mary's spine.
The day of eccentric geniuses was defi-
nitely over!
Well, after that, somehow they were en-
gaged. Dana hadn't formally proposed, but
they both knew they were going to get
married. Everyone else around the Play-
house knew it, too, and approved. Only
there were complications. That old saw
about the course of true love never run-
ning smooth was altogether too accurate,
Dana thought gloomily. (Contd. on page 102)
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Soon after June Allyson and Dick Powell
were snapped at Mocambo, she left on
her first p.a. tour— to Eastern hospitals.
Following in Johnny Payne's footsteps, Glo DeHaven's
composed 2 romantic ballads, as yei untitled. Written
under assumed name, they'll be played in her next pic.
68
Louella Parsons' Good News
Kay Williams shrugs off Van Johnson rumors . . .
Olivia deHavilland bedded in Fijis . . . Alan Ladd loses at races!
■ it's 1945! A New Year — a new slate lor Hollywood. And for
this shining, clean new record, 1 hope lor the following things:
That pictures will be shorter. Three hours or longer is too much.
That Van Johnson will stay as unspoiled, charming and likeable
as he is (and I'm not worrying that he won't).
That there will be fewer divorces, and that the good score for
reconciliations in 1944 will keep up — Barbara Hutton and
Cary Grant, Evelyn Keyes and Charles Vidor, Susan Hayward and
Jess Barker, Rudy Vallee and his bride — are all a credit to that
fine old habit of "thinking it over."
That Olivia de Havilland comes back to the screen.
That Turhan Bey forgets that pipe — and posturing. He's a nice
guy — why behave like a ham?
That Betty Grable and Rita Hayworth buy some hats.
That another musical comes along like "Cover Girl" and a drama
like "Wilson."
That "Going My Way" will never (Continued on following page)
Janie Wyman's sleep-talking never ceases amazing Ron-
nie. She'll sit up, wide-eyed, raving, and never remember <
a thing. She's given up blonding hair; too much trouble!
Bill Goodwin, Donna Reed and Frank Sinatra on CBS
Screen Guild broadcast. Donna's husband, Bill Tuttle,
is sculpting bust of Frankie whenever he finds time to pose.
Friends of the Phil Harris' are worried over Alice; say she's
so unhappy over long separations when Phil's on band
tours. Above, night-lifing at Charlie Foy's supper club.
bo shelved — but will be reissued for several
weeks each year.
That Bing continues to go his grand way.
That Bette Davis won't travel half across
the country to see a heart interest (it was
Corporal Riley) and then blow up when the
press finds out about it.
That Frank Sinatra is more careful in his
interviews and doesn't pop off about Holly-
wood. I'm for Frankie — and I think Frankie
is for Hollywood.
That Susan Hayward gets a break — pri-
vately and professionally.
That June Allyson continues to show 'em.
That Mr. Sam Goldwyn and I can get
through a year without a feud (but I doubt it).
That "The Robe" will be the great picture
it should be.
That all our boys in the service can lay
down their arms — because beautiful Peace has
come to the world again, forever and forever.
• * *
The girls who have been making the "corset
pictures" swear "Never again!" Judy Garland
says she still has marks from her tight lacings
in "Meet Me In St. Louis." Greer Garson agrees
that "Mrs. Parkington's" stays were a pain —
and not in the neck! Ingrid Bergman feels that
an actress who can emote in a corset is part
contortionist. But it takes Betty Grable to give
out with the loudest wail over her tight squeeze
in "Diamond Horseshoe." "The corset is not
here to stay" quips Betty.
* * *
Portrait of a Lady With a Cracked Heart:
It's raining. The streets around Hollywood
and Vine are glistening with the mirage of
the street lamps that have just been turned on.
A "newsy" in a slicker yells, "The Battling
Bogarts — all kissed and made up!"
A girl with strange slant eyes, in a car with
the top down, slowly eases the clutch and
turns the corner. It is hard to say just what
her expression is — there is so much wind and
rain in her face.
It's the poker face of Lauren Bacall.
(Of course, you know folks, the Bogarts are
now going through with a divorce.)
* * *
When Signe Hasso took up numerology, it
was just a gag. A nice way to spend an
evening, working out the "number" of the
friends who dropped in.
Then on her hospital tours she started "read-
ing" for the bedridden boys. Particularly for '
the psychoneurotic cases. A doctor told her,
after she finished with one patient who had
been very interested, "Do you know that this
is the first glimmer of attention or interest that
boy has shown in months? I thank you for
what you have done for him — and us." Is
she proud of her hobby now?
* * *
Hedy Lamarr will wear the most disguising
maternity wardrobe ever designed (by Irene)
in "Her Highness and the Bellboy"— Hedy's
last movie before the Interesting Event next
June.
I've seen some of these clothes, and while
they are very loose and drapy — they are so
chic the most streamlined glamour girl would
be proud to model them. They are in very
vivid colors, too. There's one green dinner
dress trimmed with bands of gold 'that makes
Hedy look like a Greek goddess — in Techni-
color.
Lamarr is so crazy about the gowns that she
is having many of them copied for home wear.
* * *
Kay Williams says if Van Johnson is in
love with her — he's forgotten to mention it.
I like that Williams girl. No wonder she
was head honey in Clark Gable's life for so
many months. She has a terrific sense of
humor, the bluest crinkly eyes I've ever seen
— and she's so honest.
Many girls would be glad to keep up the
pretense that Van was just mad about them
If nothing else — it's mighty good publicity.
But Kay laughs, "I've had just one card
from him from Mexico City — which doesn't
sound like he's on fire to me!"
* * *
When Judy Garland read that her ex, Dave
Rose, was in a military hospital suffering from
nervous exhaustion, she wanted to go to see
him at once. But she was afraid that her visit
would attract attention, or that a photographer
might be lurking around, and rumors of a recon-
ciliation might crop up to upset Dave again.
So she asked her mother and sister and
little niece to pay her visit to Dave. And sent
along all his favorite records including a pri-
vate recording by Jose Iturbi of Dave's own
beautiful "Holiday For Strings."
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Phil Harris kids Alice Faye by calling
their two tow-headed daughters, "The Dolly
Sisters."
"The Dolly Sisters" is the movie Alice flatly
refused to make with Betty Grable.
* * *
George Brent does so much raving about
Joan Fontaine in "The Affairs of Susan" (he's
her leadina man) that people are saying
they're in love. No such thing. But George
thinks Joan has had a bad deal being labeled
temperamental, and he is putting on a one-man
campaign to stop it. Remember, too, that this
praise is coming from Mr. Brent who can be
plenty caustic about his leading ladies. . . .
* * *
Surely Olivia de Havilland's luck will get
better. It couldn't get worse. Off the screen
a year because of her battles with Warners'
is bad enough. Then Livvy tried to do her
bit by going on a USO tour to the Pacific.
But fate had still more bad luck up her
sleeve. She caught pneumonia and was con-
fined to an Army hospital. Livvy wrote her
sister, Joan Fontaine, "Looks like I will be
here in the Fiji Islands six months longer. The
doctors think the long flight home would be
bad for me until all the lung congestion is
gone. How's the world going since I left it?"
*' * *
Bud Abbott gave his rotund partner, Lou
Costello, a huge dog whose disposition, at best,
was "uncertain."
"You'll learn to love him," Bud said, "He's
a one man dog."
A week later, Lou — whose clothes looked
like they had been chewed up by a mountain
lion, returned the animal to Bud.
"He may be a one-man dog," said Lou, "but
I ain't the man!"
W%~i''..'Z+ *
Jackie Jenkins was having a lot of trouble
learning his lines for "Our Vines Have Tender
Grapes." The director, thinking the little boy
wasn't concentrating, tried to shame him with
Margaret O'Brien's fine record. "She's older,"
said Master Jenkins doggedly, "I'm littler —
and my brain is softer!"
* * *
Ran into Alan Ladd and Sue Carol at
Hollywood Park on the first day of racing in
California after three years.
It was also Alan's first visit to a track any
place — any time.
At first he had a beam on his face that
wouldn't come off. Then, as he made good-
sized bets on each event — and lost them all —
he didn't look so well. When the eighth event
was over, and he hadn't cashed a ticket, he
was a sad looking customer, indeed.
"The trouble with him," giggled Susie, "is
that he just finished a race track picture,
'Salty O'Rourke' — so he thought he knew all
about the nags. But there isn't a director
around to get the horses he bets on in first/
This will learn him, I betcha."
Guess it did— because as we were leaving
we heard Alan breathe, "Never again!"
* * *
The town's gone Ouija Board mad again in
a revival of the old "spooks" fortunetelling
fad with Susan Peters, Lana Turner and the
Basil Rathbones constant players.
* *- *
Veronica Lake's ( Continued on page 74 )
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City Zone Slate .
Light, bright and dainty is
the polish that Shirley Temple prefers.
She's the perfect sixteener, yes?
Gene Tierney, who's soon to
be emoting in "A Bell for Adano," likes a
deep, rosy polish for her nails.
FASHIONS
■ "Children, the beauty class will come to order.
Please raise your hands."
Horrors! Do I see chipped polish, hangnails,
raspy-rough skin? Gene and Shirl are definitely right:
Winter is rough on hands. Bless their little hearts for
suggesting some beauty chatter this month about
fingertip fashions. 1
And all talk of finger fashions boils down to this:
You must soothe your hands with creams and lotions,
you must manicure them regularly. So coming up!
One manicure routine. Practice this routine regularly
. . . and while a-practicing it remember to work first
on your right hand. It's more difficult because it
works harder. (You left-handed chicks can go into
reverse. )
1. Off with the old polish . . . and while about it,
here's a conservation note for polish remover.
Saturate cotton with p. r. and press it against the nail
for several minutes. Do this with each nail before
you begin the actual job of removing. Three "dips"
of the remover should make a complete job of it.
2. File and shape nails with an emery board (the
new garnet boards are super wonderful!). Careful,
now. Don't file too deeply into the corners. Glamour
nails are almond-shape.
3. Swish your fingers in a cozy bowl of warm,
soapy water. Feels good, doesn't it? Well, go ahead,
soak them for a few minutes. With your brush, scrub
each finger. Dry thoroughly. Oh, but your nails
are in the dry and brittle stage? Stop fretting. A
warm oil soaking will put them back in the pink.
72
■
tv llWp l^OWV lo/Z^S ^WM>tjL, (Afru^ Vmm^4 flrCtifc
IN FINGERTIP
4. Your attitude to your cuticle should be gentle but
firm. Push it back with a cotton-tipped orangewood
stick dipped in cuticle remover. Cut cuticle only if you
want to encourage infection.
5. You don't swoop your polish right out to your
nail tips? Then now's the time for nail white (paste or
stick form) to be applied. Give fingers a second scrub-
bing. Wipe 'em dry, and' you'll be eliminating the last
shreds of cuticle loosened by the remover.
6. Now comes a polish base to make things smooth
for your pet lacquer.
7. Ah, the climax! A gay nail enamel! Use one
coat of polish for special occasion manicures (when
you wear a particular color that's heavenly with your
chartreuse formal). Use two coats for a heavy duty
manicure (a color that goes with everything you wear
for days!) When your nail glamour is completely
dry, slather a hand cream or lotion over your paws.
Massage the skin well as you apply it. All this in the
interest of smoothness.
COLOR CODE: "Color, color, which shall it be? Rose
or red or pink for me?" Now how do you like that
poem? Glimmering, shimmering, sparkling polish brings
out the poet in me! But let's get down to the business
of which color it should be. If your outfit is blue or
purple, wear a rose polish with a bluish cast. Browns,
green and yellows look best with dusky pinks. Blacks,
reds and prints take a clear red polish. For those who
would be fashion-wise (that's all of us, isn't it?) subtle,
clear pink polishes are the current pets. Then, too.
there are new shimmer-sheen {Continued on page 84)
73
(Continued horn page 71)
trousseau is all blue. Ice blue wedding gown,
blue going-away suit and hat. blue bags,
shoes, gloves — and blue lingerie.
Oh, what luscious nightgowns they were
taking back for her to try on in a private
fitting room at Saks'! One beautiful sheer
chiffon had a tiny train with deep, deep ruffles.
Another, a "shortie" in chiffon, was made like
a sports coat.
* * *
Most interesting set of the month, to me, is
"Enchanted Cottage," being produced by my
child, Harriet Parsons. (I admit I'm preju-
diced.)
The "cottage" is a sheer delight and so
complete a honeymoon couple could move in
on a moment's notice.
I begged producer Parsons for some "stills"
so I could show you fans the amazingly
"homely" make-ups on Dorothy McGuire and
Robert Young. But she said "Nothing doing.
It would spoil the surprise when the movie is
released." Well, she's the boss— and mighty
proud of her I am, too.
Guess it doesn't hurt, though, to tell you
that it takes Bob two hours to turn himself
homely. That's how good looking he is.
* * *
Another set that is fun to visit is "Weekend
at the Waldorf." Very cute the way a bellboy
ushers in every visitor. Then you are hustled
up to the desk to register. But there is no
tipping— which ain't like any hotel I've ever
been in in my travels at home or abroad.
So far, the star-studded cast headed by
Ginger Rogers, Lana Turner, Walter Pidgeon,
et al, is getting along fine. Ginger and Lana
have no scenes together throughout the entire
picture. Not that the girls wouldn't get along
— but this certainly does away with the
possibility.
However, other gals in the cast have taken
long, long looks at Ginger's brand new,
swanky, portable dressing room. It is really
a three-room suite on wheels, "done" in corals
and bright greens. By far the fanciest portable 1
ever sported by any star.
So far it hasn't bothered Lana — or maybe
she hasn't seen it.
* # *
Most meaningless movie title: "Hold Autumn
in Your Hand."
Cutest: "No Leave, No Love."
Craziest: "Salome Where She Danced."
Saddest: "Don't Ever Grieve Me."
Least Indicative of the Story: "Laura."
Swellest: "Blue Skies"— for Bing Crosby.
* * *
I was delighted to get a letter from Jean
Pierre Aumont. He is in France again after
being hospitalized in North Africa. "Every-
where we go, we French soldiers," he writes,
"we run into the Americans — and believe me
the roots of friendship being planted will
last forevar. Hollywood seems so far away.
Sometimes I think of it as one of those far
away islands inhabited by Maria (Montez—
his wife) in her sarong pictures. But it is a
dream I want soon to come true very, very
soon — because my home and heart is there."
* * •
That Sonny Tufts is a one.
He told Paramount he needed a month's-
vacation after finishing "The Golden Years"
so he could learn to ride for "The Virginian."
What Par. apparently doesn't know is that
Sonny's trophy room is lopsided with ribbons
he won riding in Eastern horse shows!
* • •
Burgess Meredith is taking an awful beating
from pals (and otherwise) because he has
had to partially shave his head to look like
bald pated Ernie Pyle in "G.I. Joe."
But the worst comes from Paulette Goddard
who calls him "Uncle Buzz" or "Daddy Dear,"
and her voice sounds just like "Baby Snooks."
* * •
Sure pays to be a Swoon King. Even the
domestic help problems get solved. Mrs.
Dick Haymes was interviewing a young col-
lege girl about being a "sitter" for the kids
when they go out in the evenings. "I can
work only one night a week," said the girl,
and then, as Mrs. H.'s face fell, she added,
"But I belong to a sorority — and we'll take
turns if Mr. Haymes will just open the front
door when we come to work!"
Maybe you think it wasn't a deal!
* * *
Speaking of all these cocktail brawls and
fights, William Powell has a new way of
extending invitations. He just says, "Please
come for cocktails — and boxing — between five
and eight."
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SWEET AND LOVELY
(Continued from page 33)
It was not a difficult scene. It consisted of
a dolly shot in which Jeanne and Tim Holt
simply walked down a street, talking, while
the camera preceded them slowly. Jeanne
had no way of knowing that Mr. Welles
was experimenting with the technique of
making screen tests, in view of the fact
that no scene ever lasts for an unbroken
five minutes under studio conditions.
Jeanne and Tim went at the task master-
fully. They didn't fluff once. They ex-
changed their ten pages of dialogue several
times, then Mr. Welles said that was all,
thank you. He added that he would get in
touch with Jeanne's mother in a few days.
The wait was interminable.
Then, one morning, Mr. Welles tele-
phoned Mrs. Crain for a long talk. He
said that Jeanne photographed much too
young for the part. But he did say that
she had great possibilities; that at that time
she didn't project her personality — she was
more interesting off screen than on. "If she
really wants to act," he summed up, "she
will have to study."
Jeanne, hearing only half the conversa-
tion, knew simply that she was not to have
the part. She went to her bedroom, locked
the door, flung herself on the bed and
sobbed wildly. In the midst of her woe,
she had a comforting thought: "They say
a girl must suffer to become a really great
actress. Well, I'm getting , a start."
And then she went to work. Where she
had never taken any interest in school dra-
matics, she now went in for everything
produced with or without a curtain.
The late Max Reinhardt, a friend of the
Crain family, mentioned one night that he
owned the rights to "Song of Bernadette"
and wanted to test Jeanne for the part.
Jeanne made the test, which is safe in
Hollywood vaults, and those who have seen
it say that it is one of the loveliest things
on celluloid. However, Mr. Reinhardt's
plans fell through, and the rights became
I the property of 20th Century-Fox — a studio
that had heard nothing of the girl who was
later to become one of its most incandescent
hopefuls.
When Jeanne learned that Mr. Reinhardt
had given up his intentions of producing
"Bernadette," she had another bitter
session of tears. The months, the years-
were going by, and she wasn't getting any-
where! Here she was — seventeen.
Several of her girl friends had vocations
and were making plans to become
novitiates in the Order of St. Joseph.
Jeanne thought it over carefully; she felt'
that she, too, had a vocation, but it wasn't
as strong as she felt it should be. She
decided to be quite sure before she took
the step, a decision encouraged by the nuns
who were her teachers.
One night she went to a Little Theater
performance in which one of her friends
had the lead. Ivan Kahn, talent scout for
20th Century, spotted her in the audience.
During the intermission, he approached
Jeanne, introduced himself and suggested
that she take a screen test on Monday.
"Oh, all right," sighed Jeanne. She had
been through that test routine so often.
It didn't mean a thing. It simply gave one
a few moments of dreams and an hour
of tears.
During the intermission between the
second and third acts, two other talent
scouts introduced themselves to Jeanne
*nnd proposed screen tests. Jeanne said she'd
let them know later, thank you very much.
She breezed through her Monday morn-
(Continued on page 109)
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75
FRANKIE, WE LOVE YOU!
(Continued from page 47)
you know that. But these broadcasts are
shorrwaved to the boys overseas If you
squeal in the middle of songs, they cant
hear 'em. So wait till the end and then
make with the applause. Okay.'
Joan sighed. "Golly, it's tough to keep
still when he does those ups and downs,
but I see what he means/' .
Katie laughed, her round face twisting
comically. "One thing— there won t be any
squeals from Sinatra Fan Number One.
They've got four guards around her. tone
pointed across to where a small, red-haired
girl sat surrounded by four stalwart men.
Alex Stordahl's band was playing now.
Joan felt the quiet contentment that always
came once the broadcast had started. This
was it— this was what the whole week led
up to. Frank stepped to the mike. And
then— gosh, he was singing her song-
Night and day, you are the one-
Only you beneath the moon and
under the sun. . . ■
He had been singing that song the day
she had walked into the Paramount four
years ago. She had been not quite thirteen
then, but tall for her age. A slim child with
smooth blonde hair in pigtails and solemn
grey eyes. She had come to hear Tommy
Dorsey's band, and the fact that he had
a new singer hadn't meant a thing to her.
Frank had seemed pretty young himselt,
then. Thin as a sliver, but gay ^ tunny
and so alive.' The things he did to Night
and Day" had been heaven. She went,
hesitating a little, backstage after the show.
He had smiled at her and patted her
shoulder. "Better stay away from here, kid,
or we'll have truant officers backstage.
"Autograph the sleeve of my blouse, will
you, Mr. Sinatra?" Joan asked suddenly.
"Sign on my sleeve instead of in . my book.
"Listen, honey, your mother 11 be down
here with an axe if I spoil your blouse
"She won't care. Please, Mr. Sinatra. 1 11
go over it later with invisible ink. I— i
want to keep it always."
moonlit baritone . . .
The broadcast went on, with .E^k
clowning around, and then singing in that
voice that drifted over you like a moonlit
cloud. When it was all over, the girls stood
up slowly. Queer. It was like coming back
to another world. .~ . , . . . ,™
"Things were pretty quiet tonight. 1 he
kids hardly squealed at all," Katie said I
hope Frank was pleased. I hate to have him
think we're a nuisance."
"I suppose we are, though, Joan ad-
mitted. "Rushing around after him, wher-
ever he goes. Only maybe he understands
how we feel, sort of. We've got to see rum.
He'll be leaving for the Coast agam and—
oh, Katie, what will we do without him.'
"It's going to be awful," Katie said
gloomily. "It always is, at first. But at
least we can still hear the broadcasts.
"Yes, but we won't see him! Joan gave
her checked jacket an impatient pull, bhe
had bought it because it looked like
Frank's. "Katie, remember , our perfect
day'?" Her grey eyes under the long black
lashes were dreamy. . Wo
"Do V It was last spring. In May. We
started out at ten in the morning, and we
were walking by the General Motors build-
ing when Frank's car drove up.
That had been a car! Joan could remem-
ber the blue flash of it in the spring sun-
shine as it came around the corner into
Broadway. The top was down, and Frank
76 was wearing dark glasses. The wmd had
blown his brown hair until it was even
more tousled than usual. He stopped the
car and got out. Then he saw them and
gave them a cheerful grin.
"Hi, kids. Looks like everybody s up
early today. What's cookin'?"
a day to remember . . .
Joan and Katie just stood there a minute,
not saying anything. Funny— when he
wasn't around, there were a million things
you wanted to say to him, and then you
saw him, and everything went right out of
your head. It happened every tune.
"Will you sign these snapshots, Frank.'
Joan managed at last, getting them out.
He did a little jig step and bowed. Let s
see 'em, baby." "
There were three of them. The one she
had taken as he came out of CBS. The one
of him at the Brooklyn ball game. And
the one of little Nancy Sandra.
"Say, this of the kid is pretty cute, hey .'
Frank said proudly.' "You took that last
week out at the house, didn't you? Nancy
told me you'd been out there."
"She did? Did she know us? Our names
and everything?"
"Sure My wife's smart— not a dope like
me." He laughed at them. Then he took
out his fountain pen and shook it to start
the ink flowing. He always did that, no
matter where he was. Even when he had
been singing in the Wedgewood Room at
the Waldorf he had done it. He signed the
pictures the way he always did— "Best
wishes to Joan. Frank Sinatra." Then he
went on in the office building.
But when "he came out, they were still
there. They walked down the street with
him until some other kids recognized him,
and he had to duck into Lindy's before a
crowd gathered. All day long, Joan and
Katie had followed him wherever he went,
and he hadn't minded. He had just laughed.
Oh, it had been a perfect day all right.
But it could never happen again that way.
Frank lived in California now, and when
he came back East, he was always in a
hurry, there was so much to do. Besides,
you couldn't get near him, usually. There
were such mobs following him around, and
the kids acted so crazy.
"I'd give anything to get backstage to-
night," Katie said, as they left the broad-
cast. "Do you s'pose it's any use trying?'
"Katie, you know we can't get within a
block of the door!"
They turned the corner, just to be sure.
A solid crowd packed the street. At the
fringe of it, two sailors were trying to see
over the heads, to find out what it was
all about. One of them noticed Joan and
said "Hey, sister, what's the mob scene?
I SAW IT HAPPEN
Garbo's almost hypersensitive fear
of intrusion prompts her to rent
homes surrounded by high walls
whenever possible. In one of a long
series' she has occupied in and
around Hollywood, she felt especially
secure because of the presence of a
12-foot brick wall, topped by a vine-
concealed barbed wire.
Garbo never did meet her next-
door neighbor, so she doesn't know
to this day that the resident was a
former pole-vaulting champion!
Marion Simms
Hollywood, Calif.
Betty Grable?" He said it hopefully. ( |
"No, they're waiting for Frank Sinatra."
"Oh, him. Come on, Bill, let's blow."
But Bill, who was freckled and had the .
widest grin this side of Joe E. Brown, said
"No. Stick around. I'd like to see this guy." ;
"You'd better try it," Katie told him.
"You ought to hear him sing 'Nancy'. That's
the song that's dedicated to his wife and
little girl. He's crazy about his family."
"What does his wife think of all this
swooning stuff?" the sailor demanded;<
"Listen, Nancy's swell," Joan said. "She
knows how we kids feel about Frank. We're
crazy about him, sure, but it's the way we'd
be crazy about a big brother that was nice
And let us tag along. We think he's super
as a singer and solid as a guy. He's a good
husband, and that's the way we want him
to be. We're crazy about Nancy, too."
She stopped, out of breath, and both
sailors laughed. "Okay, kid, we're sold."
Katie stepped in. "Would you like to
join our Sinatra Club? We already have
three hundred service men who are mem-
bers." She whipped out a card and prof-
fered it gravely. "Just write to the presi-
dent and tell her you'd like to join."
Joan and Katie walked away. It was no
use waiting for Frank ... all they would
get would be a flash of the top of his head.
At the corner, a boy stood posed against
a building. He had brown hair that fell
over his forehead, and a thin face, and he
wore a checked sports jacket. Half a dozen
girls were taking his picture.
"That boy ought to be arrested," Joan
said indignantly. "Posing as Sinatra."
"Everybody knows he isn't Frank," Katie
pointed out. "But in snapshots he does
look like him."
"Sure, and then the girls trade the pic-
tures for ones of Frank. It's dishonest."
Katie giggled. "You're mad because you
got stuck with one of them."
"If I'd seen it in a good light, I'd have
known right away," Joan said. "I made
the trade at night, like a goon, and gave
up a perfectly good snap of Frank for one
of this little worm!"
"Look, Joan, what about next Wed-
nesday? You know, Frank is doing his
broadcast up in the Bronx that night, a1
Hunter College where the WAVES are."
"Gee, I'd like to go up. Only we'd never
be able to get in. Nobody can, except
WAVES." Joan's voice was wistful.
"Let's go anyway. Maybe we can sneak
in some way."
They separated, and Joan took thu
subway to Brooklyn. There ought to be
some way they could get into that broad
cast!
crashing waves . . .
But the Navy is a super-efficient organi
zation. The girls discovered that wher
they got up to Hunter College. They went
in the afternoon right after school and
found the auditorium where thevbroadcast
was to be held. It might as well have been
held in the U. S. Mint, as far as guards
were concerned, Joan thought. Cops, the
Shore Patrol, WAVE officers— all there to
see that no one got in.
Joan and Katie stood outside the fence
for hours. They saw Frank and the orches-
tra come out and ride over to the mess hall
for dinner. Frankie waved but what good
was that? Finally they went way around
the block and crawled under what seemed
like miles of wire. They crept back to the
building in the autumn darkness. And
there right ahead of them the WAVES
(Continued on page 78)
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77
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were marching into the auditorium. They
marched two by two, neat and smart in
their blues. Back of them strung a line
of "boots," still in civilian clothes.
"They'll love the Navy!" Katie said,
grinning. "Their first night here, and they
get Frank Sinatra!"
But Joan wasn't listening. "Quick! she
said, and pulled at Katie's sleeve. In one
lightning moment they had fallen in behind
the last of the "boots," and the heavy doors
clanged behind them. They were in!
behind closed doors . . .
That seemed like a very special broad-
cast. It was like the apples you swiped.
They always tasted better than the ones
you bought. Frank was wonderful, and
the WAVES loved him.
"I'm going to join as soon as I'm old
enough, if the war's still on," Joan decided.
They almost got to be WAVES that very
night. They had an awful time getting out
of line before they were marched straight
into the dormitory.
"It's late. Mother's going to be mad at
me for this," Joan realized when they were
at last on their way downtown.
"Mine won't. She understands."
"Remember the night you took her to a
broadcast?" Joan giggled, thinking of it.
That had really been a good joke on
Katie. Her mother had said one day, "You
know, dear, I think I'd like to watch your
friend, Frank Sinatra, broadcast. You've
talked so much about him."
Katie had stared in unbelief. Her mother
had told her for months that she was
crazy, with all her talk about Frank. But
she had dashed around and somehow man-
aged to get another ticket for the broad-
cast, and off they went. Her mother
seemed to enjoy it very much.
When it was over and they started out,
she said, "Now I'd like to go backstage and
meet him."
Katie gaped. "Mother, I'm sorry, but
you can't. They won't let you in. They
won't let anyone in!"
"You've gone in. Several times," her
mother pointed out reasonably.
"That was ages ago, before he got so
popular. When there wasn't such a mob
around. Anyway, Mr. Evans, his press
agent, took me in."
"I can try," said her mother serenely
and drifted off, leaving Katie staring after
her. Of course she would soon be back.
But she didn't come back. After a while,
Katie got tired of waiting and went look-
ing for her. Katie recognized Tony, a fan
of Frank's from New Haven, in the crowd,
and went over to him. Tony usually was
hep to what was going on. He had known
Frank for a long time and often did errands
or personal jobs for him.
"Hi, Tony. Did you see a sort of plump,
middle-aged lady in a blue coat try to get
through the stage door?"
"Sure I saw her, Katie. She was a friend
of Frank's— the guard let her right in."
"He didn't!" Katie was unbelieving. Still,
her mother did have a sort of assured way
of talking that just might have gotten her
by. And she had certainly disappeared.
Katie squirmed through the crowd and
finally got to the guard at the door.
"Hey, let me in," she panted. "My
mother's inside."
"Oh, yeah? You kids'll try any gag.
"Honest she is. You let her in yourself
a minute ago. She had on a blue^coat."
The guard scratched his head. "I re-
member that lady. She's a friend of Mr.
Sinatra. But I ain't so sure you're her
daughter. You don't look like her."
"I look like my father!" said Katie furi-
ously. "Let me in!"
"We'll see if that's really your ma," said
the guard stubbornly. Taking Katie by the
arm, he brought her inside the door, hold-
ing her tightly so she couldn't wriggle
away. Katie stared, open-mouthed. A few
feet away her mother was standing with
Frank. They were laughing and talking as
if they'd known each other for years.
"Hey, lady," said the guard. "Is this your
kid?"
Katie's mother looked over at them, and
suddenly a gleam of pure mischief lighted
her eyes. "Certainly not," she said coolly.
"I never saw her before!" And while Katie
was still speechless with indignation, she
was hustled through the door.
"When she finally did come out she
handed me a paper and said, 'Here's
another autograph to add to your collection,
dear,' " Katie remembered now, laughing.
"And she's been as sold on Frank as I am,
ever since."
"I know. That makes it swell for you,"
Joan said enviously. "But my family still
think I'm nuts."
"Joan, Frank leaves for the Coast again
Wednesday morning. Let's meet Tuesday
afternoon and try and see him."
"I've got to see him before he goes," Joan
agreed. "I have a — a present for him."
It seemed as if Tuesday would never
come, and yet it came all too quickly.
After Tuesday, Frank would be gone, and
the glimpses of him that made life so ex-
citing would be over. Joan did up the
going-away present in silver paper and tied
it with a blue bow. It looked awfully pret-
ty. It wasn't anything, really. Just a snap-
shot of Katie and herself with their Frank
Sinatra buttons on, and Joan had had it
enlarged and had tinted it herself.
Tuesday finally arrived. It was one of
those brilliant days that are half fall and
half summer, with the air crisp and the
sun hot on your bare . head. The kind of
day when anything can happen. Joan went
through the motions at school, but her
eyes were on her wrist watch most- of the
time. Her heart was already pounding with
excitement. At the last bell, she grabbed
her reversible and tore out of the building.
come out, come out. wherever you are . . •
•Times Square was the usual jam of
soldiers, sailors, cops and out-of-town
visitors. Katie was waiting on the steps
of the Astor.
"Where'll we start?" she demanded, as
Joan hurried up. "He might be anywhere^"
"Do you know where he stayed last night,
Katie? Some of the kids at school said he
checked out of the Waldorf yesterday.
"Maybe the Gotham. We could go
around there — "
"Look!" Joan said in a voice that was
unrecognizable with excitement.
It was Frank, no question about that. He
was in a taxi with Al Levy, his manager.
Two other girls had recognized him, too.
"It's Babs and Helen. Come on with
them!" Katie said, and they dashed over
and piled into the cab that pulled up.
Babs and Helen were looking out the
window. "Don't let him see you," ^ Joan
hissed, "or he might try and lose us."
Giggling, they all got down on the floor
of the cab, while Katie peered furtively
out at the green taxi. Suddenly, it stopped
for a red light, and their driver drew
abreast. Before Katie could duck, Frank
saw her. He stared past, at the other girls
down on the floor, and he began to laugh.
Joan stuck her head out of the window.
"Frank, we want to see you — about some-
thing special. Where are you going?"
"Liscen, kids, I'm in an awful hurry, and
I'm going too far for you to follow me.
"I'll switch to Bing Crosby!" Helen called
threateningly, but Frank only grinned and
waved as his cab shot ahead. They fol-
lowed him for ten blocks, then he lost them.
Dismally, they got out of the taxi.
"Who's got money?" Helen asked, look-
ing at the meter. "Not us."
(Continued on page 80)
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Everyone turned to Katie. Katie always
had money. She fished it out now good-
naturedly. "What would you have done if
I hadn't come along?" _
"Washed windows, I guess, Babs ad-
mitted. "We never stop to think about
things like that when we see Frank. We
just go." She and Helen said good-by and
walked off jauntily. .
Joan stood and stared, unseeing, at the
traffic weaving past. "I didn't even get a
chance to give him his present.
"Never mind, Joanie. We'll catch up with
him later, see if we don't." Joan smiled at
her and felt better. Maybe they would
catch up to him again. .
They did, but not until a frightening
number of hours had passed. At ten that
night, Joan was ready to give up.
But, "I won't give up," Katie said crossly.
"He's somewhere in this town, and Ira
going to find him. I've got a present for
him, too, you know."
"It was early when we tried the V ma-
nova," Joan suggested doubtfully. "Do you
suppose he might have come there later '
"Let's try." Katie started impulsively
toward Forty-Fifth street.
The Villanova was a small, unpretentious
restaurant. They approached it slowly,
hardly daring to hope. _
"There he is!" cried Joan and Katie si-
multaneously. And there he was, sitting
at a big corner table with George Evans,
Al Levy and two men they didn't know.
He looked up from his spaghetti and saw
the faces pressed against the window. His
thin face broke into a smile.
They couldn't go in. The manager had
put a stop to that long ago. 'When Mr.
Sinatra eats here, he will have his dinner
in peace," he had said firmly.
It wasn't so long, really, and a thin mer-
cury of excitement kept them warm, it
he'll only stop just long enough for us to
give him the presents," Joan said desper-
ately. "But he'll be in such a hurry.
we'll meet again . . •
Then, quite suddenly, he was there. He
came through the door, like a whirlwind
in a polo coat. Joan stepped forward auto-
matically, her heart thudding, the little
silver-wrapped package m her hand.
"Frank, here. It's nothing, really.
Only— I thought you might like it."
He took it quickly. "Thanks a lot, Joan.
Then Katie was handing him a package,
too One that bore the seal of Countess
Mara, on Park Avenue. A tie, of course,
one of the fabulous kind Frank loved
He looked at it and grinned 1 11 bet I
know what this is. Thanks— that s swell.
"I hope you'll like it, Frank.' Katie
sounded sure of herself.
Joan looked at her wistfully. It would be
marvelous to be like Katie. To be able to
give him a tie from Countess Mara. To be
fure of yourself. Suddenly hot, blinding
tears filled her eyes. _
wish you weren't going, Frank, she
said softly. "We miss you awfully."
One of the men who had come out be-
hind Frank laughed. Frank turned on him
swiftly. " 'T'ain't funny, pal," he said. He
looked at Joan and put his hand on her
arm "I'll be back, you know. He glanced
down at the silver package she had given
him. His quick fingers untied the blue
bow. He opened the package
"It's nothing," Joan repeated miserably.
"Just Katie and me. Your fans."
Frank's blue eyes looked at her gravely.
"It's great, honey. I like it better than any-
thing you could have given me. Because
Vou fans are my best friends^and don t
let anybody tell you different. Bye, kids.
He was gone then, in a taxi that had
been waiting at the curb. Joan and Katie
stood, caught in a wave of happiness. He
was gone, for now, but they were his
friends He would be seeing them again.
"I ENVY CLAUDETTE . . . "
(Continued from page 39)
He hems and he haws, and he finally brings
it out.
"Look, would you talk to Selznick?
That's all, just talk to him. Talking doesn't
commit you to a thing."
So she talked to him. "Let's cut the
comedy," she said. "What's this all about?"
Now David's a super-salesman. Give him
half a chance, and he'd sell Hitler the rope
to hang himself with. Claudette knows a
fine story when she listens to it, and this
time she listened. It had everything —
heart and thoughtfulness and a universal
appeal. But she still wasn't sure she ought
to play Shirley's mother. Mind you, it was
only Shirley at the time. David's a cute
guy. He didn't pull Jennifer out of the
bag till he had Claudette hooked. Then he
was very casual about it. Very off hand
and airy. "Oh well, what's the difference,
you might as well have two."
Who really cinched it for him was Lt.-
Commander Joel Pressman. He was in the
States at the time, luckily for David. And
when Claudette asked him what he
thought, he gave it to her straight.
genius or ham? . . .
"You've always squawked about type
casting," he pointed out. "You've always
wanted to vary your roles. Well, here's a
fine part in a fine picture. Far as I can
see, nothing else matters. The point is,
are you an actress or a personality?"
"I'm an actress," she said meekly, and
you know the rest. I doubt if any picture
since "It Happened One Night" has done
more to endear her to the public.
Believe it or not, Claudette's a shy
person. When you tell people that, they
fling up their hands. With her poise? Her
composure? Just the same, it's true. She's
not easy to know. Even when she's letting
her back hair down, she never quite takes
out the pins. But what lies behind her
reserve is shyness, and I can tell you a
story to prove it.
She happens to be Betty Hutton's ideal.
Not once, but a dozen times, I've heard
Betty say: "If I could ever get to be the
kind of person Miss Colbert is, I think I'd
die happy." One day Claudette was in her
dressing room at Paramount, waiting to be
called to the set of "Practically Yours."
From Betty's dressing-room, about four
doors down, she heard sounds of revelry —
laughter, a piano. "It's kind of dull in
here," she thought. "I'd like to find out
what goes on in Betty's room."
But did she go? Not she. Because sup-
pose she knocked at the door and they
said come in, what next? She'd feel kind
of silly, breaking in on them like that.
It never entered her head that Betty would
have rolled out ten carpets and marked it
a red-letter day on the calendar.
On set, it's a different story. There, she's
sure of herself. It takes a sure person to
make others comfortable, and I don't know
any actress who's done more to put her
fellow-players at ease. Fred MacMurray
played opposite Claudette in "The Gilded
Lily," his first picture. He told me that
except for her help, he'd have been thrown
out on his ear. "Remember the Day" gave
John Payne his first real importance to the
screen. Ray Milland was just jogging along
till he made "Arise, My Love."
Somehow she gives them confidence,
loosens them up. Partly, it's generosity of
spirit — partly, her conviction that you're
only as good as the cast you're working
with. Take the case of George Reeves. He'd
been kicking around for a long time, getting
nowhere. Finally he said, "What the hell?
Might as well go over and make Westerns
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for Harry Sherman. At least I like him."
He'd done half a dozen horse operas
when Paramount found themselves up a
tree for the romantic lead opposite Clau-
dette in "So Proudly We Hail." They ran
one of his Westerns, and Claudette thought
he had the right quality. Came the day
when they were about to test him with
her. The boy was an emotional wreck,
torn apart by suspense, and no one was
more keenly aware of it than Claudette.
At the last minute, she turned to look up
at him. "Where's your horse?" she smiled.
He threw back his head and roared, went
into that scene with every muscle relaxed
and did a swell job.
I've liked the girl since our first meeting
at the cocktail party Paramount threw
when she first came out. She was wearing
a white lace gown, and looked like a dream.
I walked up from behind. "How," I de-
manded in my genteel way, "does anyone
get a chassis like yours?" She whirled
round, smiling. I liked the way she smiled
and the way she stuck out her paw and
said hello. I liked everything about her.
tummy pamperer . . .
They used to call her Legs Colbert, but
that kind of petered out. Not the legs, just
the name. Somehow, it didn't go with the
kind of girl she was. Being a woman my-
self, there are times when I'd like to crown
her. Not only does she keep her luscious
figure, she doesn't even have to diet.
Pastry's her favorite food— the richer, the
better. She could eat it from morning to
night and frequently does, without gain-
ing an ounce. Says she's trying to make up
for the wasted years, when some dope told
SHIRLEY TEMPLE'S
GROWING UP
And so's our NAA Fund, and all
because you've been feeding it
so many quarters in return for
which we've been sending you
so many autographs — of so very
many movie stars. Turn to page
62, huh?
her she had ulcers. For two long years she
lived on milk and mush and pureed vege-
tables, and eyed chocolate eclairs the way
a lush eyes a drink—
Claudette always makes me think ot
Paris, and it's not because of her French
background. If you've ever been to the
Pare Monceau in Paris, you'll know what
I mean. There, all the little girls— from
two-year-old toddlers on up— run around
like so many butterflies in brief bright
dresses, no hats, and short white gloves.
At least, they did before Hitler, and I hope
they're back again. It's the gloves that get
you. They're the badge of the well-reared
French child. Whenever I see Claudette, I
think of those kids in the Pare Monceau.
Even hatless and in slacks, there are the
short white gloves, always immaculate. The
slacks are always beautifully tailored, the
blouse crisp and spotless. She's one of the
best-dressed women on the screen, and
because I know you girls devour beauty
and fashion hints, I asked her to let me in
on some of hers so I could pass them on.
She wears lots of suits, but not the mas-
culine type. Never could see the sense in a
woman's looking like a man. If the suit isn't
black, it's one of the copper shades that
go with her hair. For evening, she sticks
to black or white. When she was your age
and couldn't afford many clothes, she still
preferred one good suit with accessory
changes to three shoddy ones. Even now
she doesn't go in for so-called luxury
garments. In our local shops, movie stars
are considered fair prey. She was shopping
one day when a saleswoman came up, all
agog. "Miss Colbert, I'd like to show you
something," and she brings out a silver
mink.
Claudette just laughed. "Tell me," she
said, "I'd really like to know — who can
afford such things? Because I earn more
than most women, and I wouldn't have that
much left out of a picture, after taxes."
She's got no patience with people who
scoff at costume jewelry. She thinks the
design's far more important than the value,
and she'd rather wear a smart looking cos-
tume piece with three little stones stuck in
the right places than a huge solitaire.
Another thing. If you're clever with
your fingers, you don't have to spend for-
tunes in beauty shops. When Claudette
first came out, she had make-up men and
hair- dressers trailing her like all the rest.
Some were good, some indifferent. You
couldn't always count on the best, and
Claudette 's fastidious. So she watched the
good ones, asked questions, and now does
her own hair and make-up.
Finally I asked about perfumes. She
uses only those with a flower base, never
anything heavy, like musk • or amber.
After a bath, she rubs toilet water all over,
but perfume she dabs only behind her ears
and on her hands. Hates to smell people
walking into a room, and thinks perfume
on clothes is slightly uncivilized — you
never can get that stale odor out of them.
She's a screwball about sweaters and
hats. Can't resist buying sweaters but
never wears 'em — though there's a girl
built for them, if I ever saw one. "There's
something about the feel of a cashmere
sweater," she says. "It's like stroking a
kitten. But I look at them there in my
closet, and I feel so guilty." Well, she.
doesn't have to feel guilty any more. When
they started collecting clothes for the
French, she gave them all away.
She's got to have eight hours sleep. Ten
to six, when she's working. But between
pictures, she stays up till three, reading,
and sleeps till eleven. Always breakfasts
in bed, and not because she's a movie star
with people to wait on her. Because she's
been known to get up and fix her break-
fast herself. It's the cosiness she loves.
And for utter bliss, give her blueberry
muffins for breakfast — her favorite food.
Between pictures, she catches up on
being a housewife. Sure she has help. But
I don't care how competent your help is, a
well-run home needs the supervision of its
mistress. Even when Jack's at home, Clau-
dette's the handyman round the house.
One day I called about something, and she
asked me to hold the wire "till I get this
glue off my hands." Seems she'd been
mending a candelabra.
When Jack was here, they didn't go out
much. Doctors are tired at night. Now,
like so many waiting wives, she finds she
can't bear to be alone and tries to see
as many people as possible. Old friends
who know Jack and understand how she
feels and don't talk about it, but simply
lend her the comfort of their friendship.
At home she has her dog and her mother
for company. Dog's a French poodle. "My
penwiper," she calls him.
You know how we all felt when France
was freed, so you can imagine how Clau-
dette and her mother felt. Mrs. Colbert
staged a celebration with Charles Boyer's
mother. Neither of them likes cham-
pagne, so they drank champagne.
"But why," asked Claudette, "if it makes
you sick?"
Mrs. Colbert drew herself up. "It's un-
thinkable that the liberation of Paris
should be toasted in anything less than
champagne — even if it makes you sick."
The Colberts are a small family. Mrs.
Colbert had one brother, her husband had
one sister. These two met at the wedding of I
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84
Claudette's parents, fell in love and mar-
ried. Nothing had been heard from them
since the German occupation of France.
Till one day last month when a letter came
from the Red Cross. The brother was alive,
his wife was dead. Mrs. Colbert's now
living for the day when she can bring him
over here.
Claudette's living for the day when her
husband comes home. I hope they'll both
forgive me for having brought Jack into
this story. I know he's always been ada-
mant about not sharing Claudette's pub-
licity, and she's bent over backward to
respect his wishes.
Now it's a little different. He's still a
doctor, but now he belongs primarily to
that vast fellowship of men in the service
of their country. If I left him out, the
picture would be lopsided. You'd be seeing
only Colbert, the. movie star— who's not
half so important as plain Mrs. Joel Press-
man, waiting hungry-hearted with plain
Mrs. John Smith for victory and peace and
a man safe home from the wars.
FASHIONS IN FINGERTIPS
(Continued from page 73)
shades for ultra glamour. And particularly
loved by me are a whole array of berry
shades, in an enamel that wears and wears.
POLISH POINTERS— Does polish make
nails brittle? No! No! No! The part of your
nail covered with polish is dead tissue.
Far from doing harm to it, polish is a regu-
lar big brother to weak nails. It actually
protects them against breaking and split-
ting Research shows that femmes who
use no polish have often more trouble with
nail breakage than those who use lacquer
regularly. So there! ' ■
What does cause brittle nails, you ask.'
Here's the lowdown: The growing part of
the nail lies under the cuticle and back
of the half moon; brittle nails are caused
by an upset in these cells. The upset could
be caused by improper diet, nervousness,
or lack of lubrication. So find out the cause,
eliminate it, and no more brittle, broken
nails for you!
THE HORRIBLE HANGNAIL— Know
why you call it "hangnail?" The word
comes from the early Anglo-Saxon for
"angry nail." If you've ever suffered with
one of the darn things, you'll agree that
those early boys knew what they were
talking about. Anyway, don't have a hang-
nail. It spoils the beauty of your hands
and nails ... and it hurts. The cuticle
normally has a firm, smooth edge that tolas
over the nail. If not pushed back, it's car-
ried forward by the growing nail. It gets
thinner and thinner and breaks easily.
Soften your cuticle every day with oils
or creams, push it back gently with an
orange stick. In most cases, you 11 avoid
hangnail. And at the same time avoid
possible infection. If you do get a hangnail,
trim it carefully with scissors, touch the
spot with some mild antiseptic. Don't stop
using nail polish— it alone will never cause
infection in an open wound. In fact, a
coating of colorless nail polish over the
hangnail will help protect the opening
until it heals.
* * *
Your letters have been pouring in . . .
keep them coming, 1 love it. But, chicks,
will you please write your names and ad-
dresses carefully. Just breaks my heart
when I can't answer you because the ad-
dress is illegible. Of course, I'm still at the
old stand. Meaning I'm sending out info
on any and all beauty problems. Carol
Carter, Beauty Editor, Modern Screen, 149
Madison Avenue, N. Y., 16, N. Y.
MODERN SCREEN
FASHION GOIDE
(Continued from page 63)
you'll get from owning one really good
dress will soften the blow. It's sort of the
same feeling as being seen with the best-
looking joe in your crowd. Proud and
breathless and can-you-all-see-me-ish.
And it's a bit of a bargain, getting a winter
and spring dress in one fell swoop.
And here's the new wrinkle — flowers to
match. Fresh-flower earrings, and wrist-
lets, bandeaux for your hair. The fad
took H'wood like Bey took Turner. Any
florist that's a member of the Florists' Tele-
graph Delivery Association will make them
for you, or you can make 'em your-
selves . . .
Everyone's got a silver barrette, but the
ones we love best have Frankie's or your
best beau's name on 'em. Cute way for
the guy to get in your hair . . . Do you like
the new mittens with big, bold initials on
the backs? Initial your own with some
loud yarn . . . Shiny new pennies stuck
in the flap of your moccasins are old stuff.
Now it's your phone number in red
numerals in that same handy little pocket
. . . Have you tried matching your perfume
to the flower print of your dress? . . . New
snow suit this year? Make it jet black
tailored gabardine if you're a blond; white
if you're dark, and spike it with, lush
colored mittens and cap . . . News in date
dresses, peplums, tunic effects, cap sleeves,
drapey necklines . . . Best sport buys, a
tan corduroy jacket, a gray flannel suit,
good-looking, all wool sweaters . . . Gay
'n giddy: Hairbows in your school colors,
wide hairbands of braided wool to match
your sweaters, beanies decorated a la small
fry with FDR buttons, fishing bait, etc.
* * *
See you next month. Meanwhile, take all
your clothes jitters to our glamorous Annie
(address below). She'll help you set your
own private world on fire.
If you want to know the store nearest
you that carries any of our swoon-makers,
how much they are, what sizes and colors
they come in, or anything in this world
about clothes, drop a note to Ann Ward,
Fashion Director, Modern Screen, 149
Madison Avenue, New York 16, New York.
There's nothing she doesn't know — from
what sort of formals are sure-fire stag bait
to what's hot in the gadget department.
QUIZ CLUES
Set 2
(Continued from page 8)
1. Went from Brent, won't leave Steve
2. David Patton's pa
3. Her Heart is young and gay
4. Ernie Mott
5. Jiving with Judy
6. A bathing beauty
7. Alana's pin-up boy
8. Out-crooning brother Bob
9. Has a good head on her feet
10. Kayo'ed by Kay
11. A von who vins
12. Tourin' with Turhan
.13. Chilled on Blondell, now June in
January
14. Drowning her sorrows in Bey
15. Art collector with gat
16. Strictly from Hungary
17. Girl who needs no Cover
18. Not a Brooklyn bum
19. WE
20. Conquering hero's a miracle
(Continued on page 92)
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HAM FROM HAMTRAMCK
(Continued from page 37)
—and he blew higher than the Empire
State building. That's the nearest his en-
thusiasm ever came to exploding him like a
frag bomb. He stalked into the office of
M-G-M's exec, Billy Grady, that night,
raving like a goon out of a padded cell and
said, "This isn't for me. I resign!"
To which, wise, experienced Billy just
grinned and said, "Take it easy. Get some
sleep and you can resign tomorrow." John
walked the Beverly Hills streets all night
to calm down. Next morning he rattled
through the scene on the first take! He
never has come near a blow-up after that,
although Hodie's favorite story in that de-
partment is about his first day on the set
of "Lifeboat." Naturally, being John Ho-
diak, he was steamed up like an express
train on this his greatest break, and it
wasn't hard for Alfred Hitchcock to see
that John was fit to be tied with the gallop-
ing jitters. The guy was nibbling his nails,
bobbing his head and St. Vitusing around
the set like a new hubby walking out his
first baby in a hospital hall.
Hitch waddled up. "What are yQU
worried about, Hodiak?" he inquired,
blandly.
"Oh, nothing, nothing at all," lied Hodie.
"There's absolutely no reason to get
nervous, you know," sighed Hitch. "After
all, this is just another picture. One," he
added, "on which your whole future de-
pends!"
down to earth . . .
So much for futures, but speaking of
pasts— not for a minute has Hodie pre-
tended to be the long lost son of the Earl of
Punkinham or even an "Eastern socialite
(which is what you usually get every time
a new Hollywood guy or gal hails from East
of the Mississippi). John will talk an arm
off you about his humble home origins,
his hard-working father and mother, the
way they had to slave and hustle to get
along so he could eat and grow tall and
strong and take a crack at his chance.
He thinks the folks back at Hamtramck,
his mixed Mid-Europe immigrant neigh-
bors, who work with their hands, forging
the industrial greatness of this Land of
the Free, are tops, and he's plenty proud of
them. And vice versa, I might add. >
I don't know how many times Johns
folks saw "Lifeboat,"— not owning an add-
ing machine — but one evening his Dad
and Mother were pushing the family
flivver across town to see it' once more,
and in their excited haste they bowled
right through a red light. A husky cop
roared up to them.
"Name?" he growled.
"Hodiak."
The cop started to write it out. Half-
way through he pushed up his goggles and
squinted hard at Hodie's paw. "Hodiak,
he repeated. "Say— you any relation to
John Hodiak, the Hamtramck guy thats
in the movies?"
"Just his father!" boomed Hodie, Sr.,
proudly. "That's all!"
"No kiddin'?" The law slapped the ticket
pad back in his hip pocket and coughed.
"Now you wanta watch these traffic lights,
he said, "they're tricky. Just take it a
little easy and be careful. You might get
hurt. My name's Schultz," he said as he
roared off. "Tell Hodie I said hello!"
John has his Mom and Pop right out in
Hollywood where he can keep an eye on
them. He's planned that ever since he
clicked, boasting to all his new Hollywood
pals "just wait till you taste Mom's (looking.
Why," he exclaimed naively, "I'll bet
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half of Hollywood will be over at our
house once they find out how well
Mom cooks!" That's why the happiest day
of Jonn's life was the day he got the
letter.
I happened to be at Hodie's tiny apart-
ment in Beverly Hills when it came —
special delivery. The minute before a
'phone call telling him he had the lead in
"A Bell For Adano" had tossed John
into a delirious tizzy of enthusiasm; I
didn't think he had any energy left. But
when he ripped open the note and yelped,
"They're coming!" you'd have thought
John just had a flash he'd been elected
president or something. He danced around
the room like a dervish, hopped around,
rolled on the sofa and talked a mile a min-
ute. The next day he started hunting all
over pack- jammed Los Angeles, and he
hunted a week, day and night. Finally
he found a cozy house with a rent on
it that Hodie (who's not yet in the chips)
couldn't afford. But after the owner got
a load of John's family worship, heard
what a wonderful housekeeper Mom was,
what a treasure of a handy man Pop was,
and so forth, spouted with John's burning
zeal, she actually lowered the rent —
something unheard of in Los Angeles
since the war began! And Hodie spent
his last week's vacation fixing the place
up spick and span, trimming a hedge and
widening the driveway to the garage.
"So Pop can't get hurt backing out," he
explained.
Personally, it's my opinion that a gen-
uine, open-hearted, guileless guy like John
Hodiak could never go Hollywood.
I'm thinking of the time a reporter
strolled onto the set of "Marriage is a Pri-
vate Affair," where, you'll remember, John
was making screen love to Lana Turner,
something he'd dreamed about ever since
he started thinking of a Hollywood career.
Lana wasn't around that day, fortunately,
but she was hot copy because of her di-
vorce trouble with Steve Crane. The news-
hawk must have thought he had an angle
worth poking into. He walked up to John
and asked him boldly, with the break-
down technique some reporters use, "Ho-
diak, what part did you play in this Lana
Turner-Steve Crane divorce?"
keep falkln', bub . . .
The question was absurd, of course. But
maybe the gossip guy thought he could
sting John into protesting his innocence
and spilling some good quotes. Instead
he saw a light in John's eye and a look on
his face that changed his plans, pronto. But
all John said was. "Did you say some-
thing to me? I didn't hear you."
The reporter said, "No, I didn't say any-
thing." And scrammed.
Hodie's pretty sentimental about his own
people. He talks, acts and thinks like any
other American, but take a close look at
John, and you know he's got foreign blood.
He's got a square, broad face, a wide Slavic
mouth with big white teeth, lots of yellow
in his hazel eyes, straight, gunmetal-black
hair and whiskers that still paint his
cheeks blue-black when they've just been
shaved.
His beloved Pop and Mom both were
immigrants. Walter Hodiak was a farmer
from the Ukraine, and his wife, Anna
Pogorzelic, came from Poland. They were
peasant farmers who came to America to
work in the Pittsburgh steel mills. That's
where John was born, but after an early
kidhood, the Hodiaks moved on to Detroit
for better pay in the booming auto indus-
try. Naturally, they hit right for Ham-
tramck, Detroit's industrial suburb where
people like them— Poles, Ukrainians, Bo-
hemians, Slovenes, Ruthenians — lived in
dingy drafty houses jammed up against
one another — sometimes as many as six I
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Lovely things are always worth waiting for.
87
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families to a house. They were homes
"bought" by the workers, but loaded with
mortgages, so that nine times out of ten
the landlords got them right back. Homes
where strikes and layoffs were family
tragedies. Homes where everybody worked
— ma, pa and the kids — as soon as the
truant officer would let them leave school.
Not what you'd call exactly a Lap of
Luxury. Not even its bony knees.
dead end . . .
Hodie grew up like the rest of the kids,
squeezed by 60,000 people in the tiny
area that Hamtramck covers. Streets and
alleys were his playgrounds. He hopped
the lumbering freight trains that creaked
through town; he scavenged around behind
the big plants for odd hunks of metal to
sell junk dealers for his pocket money.
But Hodie didn't have much trouble
with the tough kids he played with be-
cause he was big and rugged and because
he was a crack baseball player. That
cut a lot of ice in Hamtramck, where
baseball was highly respected. John broke
in his mitt on vacant lots, made the team
at Hamtramck High, and later when he
graduated, even got a chance to join the
St. Louis Cards on one of their "farm"
rookie teams. But by then that wasn't
what he wanted.
Because in some ways the Hodiaks had
an extra hop on the ball. Pop and Mom
Hodiak held on to their home and paid off
the mortgage to foil the landlords. Pop
was elected head of the parish. He had
a flair for amateur art. He liked to act
in the Ukrainian plays they put on at the
church. Hodie played in them, too, and
sang in the choir. (He's still got a good
baritone voice, and he can spout Russian,
Italian and a half-dozen Slavic dialects with
the greatest of ease.) Once when Hodie
fell in with bad companions and played
hookey practically one whole semester, he
got the stuffings whaled out of him by his
dad. From then on, by the way, Hodie
became a model student, making B's in
everything, even graduating with a com-
petitive crack at West Point, although he
didn't make the team there.
But it was the church plays, the high
school dramas and Hodie's eagerness to
spout speeches at the drop of a hat that
got him hipped on the radio acting idea
which finally paid off way out in Holly-
wood. Hodie had worked up such an
oratorical rep around Hamtramck that
when a campaigning candidate for Michi-
gan's governorship hit Hamtramck, John
stumped the place for him and got votes
galore.
"When I'm elected, Son," promised the
grateful statesman, "let me know what I
can do for you."
Hodie wasn't backward. He let him
know all right. He was just out of high
school. His dad was just out of a job.
Both were just out of money.
John wrote the new governor. "Please
(1) get my dad a job. (2) Give me a
recommendation as a speaker. I want a
radio job."
The gov came through, Pop got on the
payroll at a depression-stalled plant, and
Hodie got a glowing build-up as the silver-
tongued young orator of the century. But
the program director of Detroit's biggest
station was not impressed.
"Let's hear you read," he sighed.
Hodie gave out with what he considered
deathless oratory, but the neighborhood
dialects of all the Polettis, Wojiehowicz's,
Schmaltz's and Garfinkel's ganged up on
him. His Hamtramck accents smote the
mighty radio man definitely in the wrong
acoustical places.
"Take some good advice, kid,' he told
18-year-old John. "Go home, get a job iri
a factory, marry a nice girl and forget this
radio acting stuff. You sound like the
.}
Melting Pot of the West going East!"
His attitude was, "Go away, boy, you
bother me!"
Well, it still makes John Hodiak get red
in the face to talk about that episode. But
he's fair enough now to admit that those
caustic comments were not only gospel,
but exactly what stung him on to success.
But to Hodie, that radio man's bop on the
ego could never be soothed until he did
something about it. So he ironed out his
diction by reading aloud and talking to
every college-educated man at Chevrolet
(where he'd got a $45 a week job in the
meantime) until he had his vowel tones
rolling right in the groove. When another
Detroit station staged a competitive audi-
tion, Hodie won it hands down. Tout de
suite he wrote a very snooty letter to the
program chief who'd insulted his ambi-
tions. He enclosed the newspaper clipping
announcing his audition triumph. Then he
felt a lot better. He got just as snooty a
note back, telling him he was probably still
lousy. But it ended, "Come and see me."
That started Hodie's radio career. They
sort of adopted him around the station,
shoved him into this and that show in bit
lines, mob murmurs and extra parts. But
always at night after his regular job.
Pretty soon they wanted him days, too,
and the Great Decision loomed. The offer
"Put you on the studio acting staff — salary,
thirty-five bucks a week." Hodie's spot —
he already was making $45 at Chevrolet.
So what did he do? He quit and took the
radio job.
and baby makes three . . .
Well, even John's folks couldn't under-
stand that. Pop and Mom Hodiak and his
brother and sis thought he was stark and
raving. John was about 21 then, and
already Pop had said, "Now Son, it's time
you get yourself married to a nice girl.
You can move into the attic rooms, have
scads of kids and live with us." Hodie
was already a catch; he had a cushy office
job at the plant with a fabulous salary.
Here he was tossing away his future for
ten bucks less! Ten dollars has always
been plenty of dough in Hamtramck.
But that was the last peep of protest
Hodie ever got from his folks or neigh-
bors. Pretty soon he was on "The Green
Hornet" and "The Lone Ranger" shows
and a celebrity in the neighborhood. Even
afterwards in his radio ups and downs,
John was always a hero to the home town
folks, and many's the time Mom and Pop
sent on a $5 bill they'd borrowed down
the block to help over the rough spots.
Well, to tuck up a long tale, Detroit
radio soon got too small for John, even
though he was dragging down $75 a week.
He moved on to Chicago, struck it rich
the first week, went broke thereafter, lived
high, starved low by turns, but made a
name for himself in the gang of soap
operas and radio action thrillers the Windy
City has always scattered out on the
groaning air. "Ma Perkins," "Girl Alone,"
"Mary Marlin," "Wings of Destiny." His
biggest break was playing "Lil' Abner" on
the air. When the Hamtramck home-
folks heard John spouting Dogpatch talk
on that one, by the way, they wrote him,
real puzzled, "What's happened to you?
You don't sound like yourself." Nobody
there ever has thought of John as an
actor— just as Hodie Hodiak, the kid down
the street.
Eventually what had happened to Don
Ameche and Ty Power and a bunch of
other radio actors around Chicago hap-
pened to John. It's almost routine when a
guy makes good in Chicago radio that he
gets a Hollywood test if he wants it— that
is, if he doesn't have bow legs and a
squint.
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Hollywood even more on the prowl for
eligible new males. Uncle Sam found
bugs in John's basic metabolism or some-
thing, and included him out of the draft.
He was movie bait if there ever was. He
went to New York and shot a test scene
with Canada Lee, the Negro actor. There
wasn't much to the trip, the test or the
Hollywood temptation. John had a Holly-
wood bee definitely buzzing by then. It's
no Seventh Wonder of the World that
M-G-M offered him a contract, either. It
could happen to you. But what gave out
from that test from then on is a caution.
One day, after lousing around Hollywood
for over a year with exactly 2 walk-ons, he
got the Word from Fred Datig at M-G-M.
"Go over to Fox. Hitchcock wants you for
a picture."
John stuttered, "W-who w-wants who
for what?"
"It's a picture called 'Lifeboat,'" said
Datig, the big casting guy at M-G-M.
"Some extra bit, walk-on, or something.
You seem to be the type."
Hodie thought it was awfully funny the
way the Great Hitchcock lumbered into
Producer Kenneth MacGowan's office,
barely looked at John as he handed him
the script and said, "You're playing Kovac.
Want to take this home and read it?"
follow the lead . . .
In a minute Hodie was outside again,
deciding he must have about one line like,
"They went that way," from the manner
Hitch had brushed him off. He sighed
and thought before he drove home he'd
try to find that line, maybe on page 99.
He riffled through the mimeographed
sheets, and the first thing he saw was
Kovac— and a long chunk of dialogue. He
kept turning, and his hair lifted up on his
scalp like a porcupine's quills. Kovac was
all through the thing. It finally dawned
on John that lightning had struck him
smack on the button. He was playing the
lead with Tallulah Bankhead— Hunky
Hodie Hodiak the Hamtramck Ham! How
come? He roared his heap out of the Fox
parking lot and over to M-G-M on a
couple of wheels.
Of course, what Hodie didn't know was
that Alfred Hitchcock didn't need a screen
test or anything to check up on Hodie.
He already had one. When Hitch wanted
a Negro for "Lifeboat" he thought of Can-
ada Lee, and the only test in Hollywood
was the one Canada had made in New
York with John. A. Hitchcock is a prac-
tical man. He was hunting a Hunky oiler,
a rugged young guy to make love to
Tallu— and here Fate had dumped one
right in his lap. So he just picked up a
telephone and called M-G-M without any
fuss feathers and said he wanted this—
what's his name?— Hodiak for Tallulah's
leading man.
That's why when Hodie bounded into
Fred Datig's den looking like an escapee
from the looney-bin, they were prepared.
"Look," babbled Hodie, waving the
script. "It's no bit, it's the lead with
Tallulah Bankhead! I wanna do it. I
wanna do it. Fix it up— please, please,
please!" Datig thought the gag had gone
far enough. He didn't want a psychoneu-
rotic on his conscience. "Okay, okay," he
soothed. "Take it easy, John. Of course
you're going to do it." He confessed, Its
been all set for four weeks!"
But Hodie himself, big star and all, Im
happy to say, is still the plain guy he was
before the miracle. Although he's moved in
with Mom and Dad for the present, he s
still renting his tiny Beverly Hills apart-
ment and will move back when the folks
are permanently settled. He drives the '41
Plymouth coupe he bought on time pay-
ments in Chicago. He still calls it "Kelly
after a fictitious haracter he likes to weave
fantastic yarns about in his spare time.
John still thinks his Mom is the best cook
in the world, and he still tries to copy
her Ukrainian goodie recipes on his own
stove. He still hates liver, chain smokes
cigarettes, lies awake half the night, dis-
cards his necktie the first thing when he
gets home. He still shoots golf in the high
eighties and longs for a chance to go fish-
ing, his favorite sport. He still tags his
idea of Heaven a cozy fishing lodge deep
in the Wisconsin lake country. He still
says one day he's going to compose music.
He still would rather hang over the piano
at his friend Hoagy Carmichael's (the Car-
michael kids call him Uncle John Hodiak
by now) than take in a swank turn at
Mocambo's, because he still feels embar-
rassed at any place that's grand and glit-
tering and expensive.
crystal ball capers . . .
Hodie still hates to shave his spiky beard,
loves to read books in steaming bath tubs,
hates to rise and shine before ten a.m.
(but does it plenty often, you can bet),
can't stand any drink but Scotch or beer,
and doesn't dare take in his own previews,
hates make-up and is foolish about big
league baseball but can't stand to watch
football in the sun a la Southern Cali-
fornia and swears that when he marries
it'll be for keeps. Hodie's still a bachelor,
too, of course, although right now he's
got it pretty bad for pretty Anne Baxter —
and vice versa, so they say. John's still
crazy, too, about his family. He spent
his one and only week's vacation travelling
to Texas to check up on a nephew in an
Army camp there.
In fact, the only alterations I can un-
cover in Hodiak's history since he's flirted
with fame are (1) that he's turned into
a walking crystal ball about his career and
(2) that he's putting his heart more than
ever into his work.
A while ago some friends of Ann
Sothern's dropped in to visit her on the
set of "Maisie Goes to Reno" and observed
audibly that she looked worn to a frazzle.
"You're not kidding, I'm simply ex-
hausted," confessed Annie. "I've spent all
day kissing John Hodiak. But," she
grinned, "is that bad?"
As for this psychic stuff— Hodie's been
bunching his hunches and serving himself
second sight all over the place since Lady
Luck grinned his way.
Not long ago, he was all signed and
sealed to make "Valley of Decision" at
M-G-M. Cheerily, John told his friends
not to give it another thought. "I'll never
make the picture," he stated flatly. "But
I'll bet I do 'Bell for Adano.' I dreamed
it." So just one week before it started
shooting, out bounced Hodie from the
"Decision" cast, and right over to
Twentieth again for "A Bell for Adano!"
The thing is beginning to get a little
creepy, but according to Hodie it's all
strictly a matter of will power. You set
your eyes on a certain star, dream on it,
and you're in.
In fact, when you get to know John
fairly well, he'll drag his personal magic,
a well-worn copper coin, out of his pocket
and let you give it a gander. He's carried
it for some years now — ever since he had
that good job with the Chevrolet Motor
Company back in Detroit.
He's never been without it somewhere
in his jeans, and Hodie doesn't aim to
leave it lying around loose one minute
from now on.
On one side there's the legend, "It shall
be done." On the other it says, "Go get
it and keep it!"
That's what the Ham from Hamtramck
has been doing for a good many years now.
It's exactly what he intends to keep doing
from now on out. Yes, indeed!
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marked some department or other on the
chart of Farley Granger with a large "Per-
fect!" "Okay!" or "Excellent!"
Farley carried his cum laude chart in to
the Navy Interviewing officer because he
wanted a sailor for to be. The Navy man
took one gander at the report card and
almost bounced out of his seat. Here before
him in the flesh was practically a walking
Four-Point-Zero. A model man.
"H-m-m-m," mused the exec. "You seem
to be just the kind of man the Navy's
looking for, Granger. You'll want the Regu-
lar Navy, of course?"
Farley swelled like a pouter pigeon.
"YesT Sir!" he said.
A few minutes later, cashing his induc-
tee's chit for a glass of milk and a sand-
wich at the USO, Farley joined the gang
of rookies.-
"Did you hear about Joe, here? said one.
"He took the Regular Navy!"
"Heck," spoke up Farley. "So did I.
"You did!" they chorused. There was
respectful silence. "Gosh," exclaimed one
kid in an awed whisper. "Six years!"
Farley felt his neck shrink, "Six what?
"Sure," they told him. "When you sign
for Regular Navy, it's a six-year hitch!"
92
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a goldmine in the navy . . .
Farley didn't know. But the minute he
found out, he made tracks back to the
interviewer in nothing flat.
Well, they were very nice about it, of
course, and Apprentice Seaman Granger
switched pronto to the Naval Reserve.
But while he waited to rescue himself
from life everlasting on the bounding
main, Farley sweated it out with himself
like this— "Gosh— this can't happen to me.
I'm an actor. I got a career to consider."
While a mob of scattered U. S. movie-
goers tabbed him right away as something
special in "North Star" and "The Purple
Heart" in his home town, Hollywood,
Farley was still a mere high school kid
who answered a want ad and got a break
— in the very first stages of being a Cin-
derella boy, you might say, when Uncle
Sam announced, "You're next!" In fact,
Farley joined the sea-going gang just
twenty days after North Hollywood High
handed him his diploma. The only direct
sample he'd had of fame and fancy life
was rubbing up against a few big stars
Occupation-
-Age-
QUIZ CLUES
Set 3
(Continued from page 85)
1. "Annie Pie"
2. Tough bird's a rising sparrow
3. A singing angel
4 "Arsenic" increased "face"
5. "Wilson"
6. Studios pester Esther
7. Laddie's left home
8. Jelled with a jill in a jeep
9. Topping all rivals
10. Major'ed in gunnery
11. Foxed around 5 graves to Cairo
12. Vamped phantom at opera
13. What'll happen tomorrow?
14. Marriage was a public affair
15. Mr. Winkle
16. Watched on the Rhine for Oscar
17. All's well, but won't end Welles
18. Hairy Ape
19. Has a prayer, no wings
20. No sackin' for Eddie
Answers on page 103
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Heaven knows, too, Farley didn't look
much like a movie star when he hit boot
camp, 'way up in Farragut, Idaho. His
last night as a civilian, Farley and his best
girl, Vee McDowall, and brother Roddy
all took in "The Sullivans," a picture about
the five heroic U. S. Navy brothers who
gave their lives for their country. The
picture was filmed for Navy Relief, and
the event was practically all-Navy with
gold braid and everything. On the screen
Farley saw the heroic side of Navy life.
He didn't see it at Farragut.
Because a "boot" of course, is a good
ten yards lower than a sock in a cellar,
any way you look at it. And any way you
looked at Boot Farley Granger, he was
no rose. Away from home for the first
time in his life and shivering in his dun-
garees, knee deep in the first snow he'd ever
seen, Apprentice Seaman Granger was a
sad looking sack, a very mouldy young
mate indeed. He was woozy on his feet
from a flock of Flit guns they'd poked in
his arm to keep all kinds of diseases away.
His nice long, wavy black hair was shaved
bald, and his ears stuck out like a mourn-
ful monkey's.
Yet it was at this precise moment, this
low water mark of a gob's existence, that
Farley Granger's glamour days began.
In his sad state you'd hardly think his
boot mates would regard him with any-
thing like awe or admiration — and maybe
they didn't. All Farley knows is that he
became, at least, a Curiosity.
the price of fame . . .
It all started when a boot mate got hold
of a magazine, and it would be a mag
where Farley's young face beamed from
a particularly prominent page. "Here's a
jerk I never saw before," muttered the
boot. He spelled it out laboriously, "F^A-R-
L-E-Y G-R-A-N-G-E-R— Granger— say,
ain't that your name, too, Bud?" Then he
did a delayed take: "Hey— you look like
this guy here! Hey, you ain't in the movies
are you?" The dawn came up like thunder.
"HEY FELLOWS! This guy's a movie star!"
Well — when Farley first checked in at
Farragut Training Center, the word got
around. The boots came from all over-
Kansas, Alabama, Indiana, North Dakota-
hundreds of miles from Hollywood. To
them, a Hollywood movie star was some-
thing like the Missing Link or the Wild Man
of Borneo. What they wanted pronto was
The Word, straight from headquarters.
They bore Farley into the barracks, pinned
him against the wall and let go the salvos —
quiz kid . . .
Had he kissed Hedy Lamarr? When you
kiss a movie star in a scene does she kiss
back? Did he make a thousand dollars
a day? Can Shirley Temple cut a rug?
They gave him a new name right way.
In his barracks there was a thin guy
called "The Rib" and a baldish bird named
"The Dome." Farley became "The Profile"
— because he was an actor, of course. Then
there was his mail. When you're a Holly-
wood actor and you enter any branch of
the service, there's always the mail.
Farley's friends back in Hollywood were
swell about writing, and he managed to
save most of those notes for his eyes alone.
The ones from Jane Withers and June
Haver and Vee and Roddy and Sam. He
wasn't any Alan Ladd when he left, so
his fan mail didn't come in trucks, but he
couldn't guard all of it from prying eyes.
A flock of billets-doux arrived one day,
and Farley had to open them while his boot
mates looked on. The first one he ripped
open was one of those — you know — "I love
you madly" kind. It had a luscious picture
of a sweet young thing. It had lipstick all
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over it. "The Profile's" clipped cranium
turned a fiery pink, and the razzing his
mates handed him then was something.
But the worst mail call moment parley
had he wasn't exactly prepared for. It had
to do with females, and as anybody knows,
they're always deadlier than the male. One
day Farley's chief told him to report to
the post-office for some letters.
"Name?" asked the yeoman.
"Farley Granger."
"Nothing here." .
"But," said Farley, "I was told to re-
port." . „
"Might try the sorting room.
Farley hot footed it over there— and
found himself smack in a vast room
crowded with cute girls shuffling mail. He
mentioned his name timidly, and the girl
clerk yelled to the whole room: Hey girls
-here's the guy! Here's Farley Granger!
They all stopped work and stared as it
Farley was the man who broke the bank
at Monte Carlo or something. Then they
bounced up and mobbed him.
Of course, the Navy doesn t care whether
its boots were formerly Hollywood actors
or just plain Joe Sodajerk from Albuquer-
que. In the Navy, Farley went through
the same rugged routine as all his mates,
and nobody outside his barracks room
buddies gave him a tumble around the
base after a couple of days. Still it was
funny how the pattern of events hooked
up with his past to hand Granger the
Hollywood treatment 'way up m darkest
boot camp. For instance, he d never be-
fore in his life made a personal appearance.
He'd never before broken any theater rec-
ords. Pretty soon, oddly enough, Farley
was doing both. ,
By pure chance his work detail plopped
him into a Welfare and Recreation assign-
ment at Farragut. Maybe they got the
idea from his screening cards or something
that Farley was a show business baby.
After all, you have to state what you did
in civilian life, and all Farley could think
to put down was "actor." Anyway, pretty
soon he found himself cleaning up in the
theater— a big 2700 capacity auditorium
where all movies played and camp skits
were staged. That cleaning up is a case
of no kidding, because Farley s theatrical
work wasn't exactly glamorous at farst.
What Farley did was lean on a broom m
the mornings and wrestle with the gum
stuck on the seats, the candy bars squashed
on the floors,
day of reckoning . . •
At nights he hustled up and down the
aisles ushering, seeing that officers and
WAVES didn't rub elbows with lowly boots.
Then one night what was bound to hap-
pen happened. Farley's last picture, The
Purple Heart," arrived at Farragut-eight
tin cans of reeled dynamite. Farley
gloomed. He wasn't a bit ashamed of the
picture, of course, or his part, which was
okay. But while his mates knew by now
his fantastic past as a Teal Hollywood
actor, it wasn't as if he was right there
before God and all of them, making his
faces "O-o-o-o-o-h-h-h," moaned Farley
when he saw the program notice tacked
up "I'm a cooked goose." He could just
hear the razzes and barracks wisecracks
that would pepper him for weeks. That
night Farley worked a deal with a mate
for some pinch-hitting. He knew he
couldn't stand and watch himself on the
screen in this Navy boot camp setting.
He ducked out all right, but part way
through the show the boot came running
out and nabbed him. "Hey," he said, the
chief wants you to make a speech after the
picture finishes. Up on the stage.
Poor Farley's knees turned to all flavors
of iello— raspberry, strawberry, lemon and
lime. But orders are orders. He dragged
back and climbed on the stage when the
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lights went up. Farley was scared stiff
as a poker at first, but the minute he
started telling them about how the pic-
ture was made, he was right in the groove
and happy thinking about his brief but
thrilling career in Hollywood. He told
them all about how sets were made, how
the rain poured down right realistically
inside the stage, how the camera made
trick shots, how stars and director worked.
He had something to say, and he said it
okay. He got a big hand at the end —
the biggest hand of applause that had
ever caressed Farley Granger's ears.
That was the happy outcome of Farley
Granger's first P.A. almost a thousand miles
from Hollywood. On his next one he broke
a record.
thrills and chills of fame . . .
Coeur d'Alene was the little Idaho town
where all the boots scrammed on liberty,
mainly to stroll up and down the streets,
have a look at the pretty young Idaho
potatoes, sip cokes at the drug store counter
and huddle around the piano at the USO.
At night when there wasn't a USO dance,
there was only one social center of Coeur
d'Alene — the local movie house. "Purple
Heart" played there not long after it ran
at Farragut, and the manager had the
greatest exploitation idea that had hit him
since the theater was built. He asked Far-
ley if he'd make an appearance on the
stage with the picture. It would be "Far-
ley Granger" night, and it would certainly
wow the town.
Farley grinned "Sure." Because by now
he kind of liked making personal appear-
ances. He had a big night, signed auto-
graphs until he had the shakes — and later
on the manager paid him back on his
birthday. How he discovered that, Farley
doesn't know — but he was kind of lone-
some and low (his first birthday away
from home) that night, sitting in the show
—when suddenly on the screen there
flashed, "Happy Birthday to Farley Gran-
ger," the lights went on, and the manager
had Farley stand up, take a bow and get
wished "Happy Birthday" by the crowd.
Don't get the idea that boot training was
all a tour of triumph for Farley Granger.
A boot is a boot is a boot, as Gertie Stein
would say. It was a funny thing that
Granger got local notice as a Hollywood
personality at the lowest stage of his
standing in the Navy — but that was just
now and then. Most of the time he had
his nose to the same grindstone that all
Navy novices have to polish before they
count as fighting guys. Luckily, outside of
a peach of a cold, Farley could take the
physical rap — the drills, the marches, the
gymnastics and even the open-windowed
barracks where the snow sifted in, although
for his dough he'd take an orange grove
any day. Farley's thin frame can fool
you. He's got a rugged constitution. Even
the shots didn't bother him too much.
Farley rose to leader of his squadron in
Company 243, a crack bunch of boots who
took pride in their work. When his work
week came at the end of boot school,
Farley drew a tough one — the job of
Battalion Headquarters messenger — 4 hours
on, 8 off — shagging dispatches and tele-
grams in the dark through the snow. A
couple of times Farley got lost in the dark
pine forest, but he never funked out. He
lost weight which wasn't helped any by
an airsick plane ride back to Hollywood
on his first furlough (even a pretty stew-
ardess couldn't tempt him with food) . Far-
ley arrived looking like Death warmed
over. At home his mother asked him what
he wanted to do, and he just grinned two
words at her, "Eat! Sleep!" But when
he'd had a couple of days of that, he got
restless right away. The truth was — Far-
ley missed the gang at Farragut.
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So when -he got his orders to report to
Shoemaker Receiving Center, near San
Francisco, Farley felt a little the same
way he felt when he left Hollywood tor
Farragut. He was leaving new and good
friends and facing the Unknown aganx
But it wasn't long before the Word
got around at Shoemaker, just like it had
at Farragut, that this Granger was an ex-
movie star— although Lord knows the guy
didn't look it. The receiving center is a
plenty big place, not so isolated as Farra-
gut, though, and the sailors are always
coming or leaving. So the Hollywood treat-
ment let up a little for Farley, which was
okay with him. On liberties he hitchhiked
down to his birthplace, San Jose, where he
has scads of relatives.
Then one day came this letter: It was
from his best chum, Roddy McDowall. It
carried terrific news for a lonesome sailor.
"I'm coming up to San Francisco with the
bunch from Twentieth-Century on the
'Wilson' premiere. Arrive Sunday. Think
there's a chance of your getting oft!
Farley almost fainted with excitement. He
hadn't seen any of his Hollywood pals
for long months, and here was his very
best one coming to town— and he, Seaman
Granger, was up for a 48-hour leave! What
could be sweeter? Farley didn't know
then how much swell fun it was going to
turn out to be, although at first everything
seemed to go wrong. Because when Farley
rushed over to the PX and put in phone
calls to the San Francisco hotels, they all
said no Hollywood stars were expected
there on Sunday. His leave started Sunday
night, and it was Saturday night then.
What if the gang came up too late, and his
leave was all gone! Farley wired Roddy,
haunted the hotels again by phone. Where
the heck was Roddy? Sunday rolled by,
and still Farley hadn't had a lick of luck.
He was one sad sailor Sunday afternoon
when he trailed back to his barracks in his
Sunday whites. A lieutenant from head-
quarters was there outside the barracks.
Farley snapped to and saluted.
pumpkin coach ride . . .
'Are you Farley Granger?" asked the
lieutenant. .
"Yes, sir," faltered Farley, wondering
"Now what have I done?"
"Do you know Roddy McDowall?
"Yes, Sir."
"Want to see him?"
"Do I?" shouted Farley, I mean yes,
Sir, I sure do!"
"Then," grinned the officer, get into
your blues and hop over the fence to the
Seabee camp next door. He's, over there.
Here's your leave pass. It starts tomorrow.
Farley whooped into the barracks yell-
ing, "Gangway!" He was out again in an
all-Navy record for a quick change. He
was over the fence and into Camp Parks,
the Seabee center, running like an Indian
while the startled Seabees confirmed their
convictions that all sailors were nuts. But
he found Roddy at the recreation center
in no time flat— and not only Roddy but
the whole Hollywood "Wilson" premiere
junket galaxy— Carmen Miranda Joan
Blondell, Bill Bendix, Gracie Fields, Bill
Eythe, Mary Anderson, George Jessel— a
half dozen more. The biggest Hollywood
troupe of stars ever sent out to a camp.
Roddy spied Farley charging up. Hi,
Baldy!" he yelled. (Roddy has called Far-
ley "Baldy" ever since he came back home
on his boot leave with that jailhouse hair-
cut.) "Is this where you live?"
"Hey!" choked Farley, "I've got liberty
—48 hours— tomorrow— no I don't live here
—I'm at Shoemaker." n
"That's where we play tonight—
Well— no sailor ever had such a Cin-
derella break. Nobody, unless he's a friend-
ly full-of-beans guy like Farley Granger,
could understand the kick it handed him.
It was like a trip back home from the
start, only it was better.
Because the gala bunch adopted him
right from the start as a member of the
star cavalcade, and they were up North
to do things up right. That night they
staged a slam-bang show at Farley's Shoe-
maker camp, and naturally, he stuck back-
stage with all the stars. Then right in the
middle Bill Bendix dragged him out of
the wings and kidded him before all his
shipmates and led him through a comic
skit that made the camp roar.
His barrack mates and the mates in
C'MON, FESS UP!
Not that we'd like to have you tell
tales, but . . . well, anyhow, not the
snitchy kind. Just the good, old-
fashioned Hollywood garden gossip
variety. In other words, you've come
across a movie personality and some-
thing funny happened. Or sad. Or
glad. Or unusual. And you're simply
aching to talk about it because it's
just too thrilling to hold back any
longer. Well, don't! Tell us. And to
soothe your fevered brow, how does
five dollars sound for each one we
use? Your stories go to: I SAW IT
HAPPEN Editor, Modern Screen, 149
Madison Avenue, New York 16, N. Y.
P.S. — The checks come from there,
too.
the barracks next door, too, loaded him
down with sheets of paper with their
names marked on them for autographs.
Farley staggered around among his Holly-
wood star friends collecting signatures be-
fore he dared get out of camp. He was as
busy as a bird dog, but he loved it.
That night, though, Farley rode back to
San Francisco in a Navy station wagon
with Roddy. They jabbered all the way
like a couple of school kids, catching up
on each other, and at the Palace Hotel they
kept it up until four o'clock in the morn-
ing, until "Baby". — that's Roddy's mother —
rapped on the door and shut them up.
Those forty-eight hours turned into a
dream no gob would have dared whip up
about a San Fran leave. There was a party
every minute, or a show or a shindig. There
were famous names, San Francisco big
shots, Hollywood stars, glamour every-
where. Farley was in the thick of it all.
He met Darryl Zanuck — his own boss —
for the first time, 'way up in San Francisco.
He went everywhere the Hollywood star
cavalcade did. To Elsa Maxwell's big party
at the Palace. He went with Roddy and
the others when they broadcast Bond
rallies from the big Bay City department
store windows. He took in all the dinners,
banquets, cocktail parties and got intro-
duced along with all the other big Holly-
wood stars — just like he was one of them,
which of course Farley was, in a way.
So Seaman Farley Granger went back
to Shoemaker with plenty of tales to
brighten the barracks bull-sessions for
weeks and weeks. And by now, somewhere
out in the Pacific, he's probably getting the
same Hollywood treatment from his mates.
But by now Farley ought to be used to
it and taking it in stride. His Hollywood
past has never hurt him one speck in
this man's Navy; on the contrary, glamour
for a gob has worked out pretty okay for
everybody concerned. He's a crack ship-
mate by now in his own right, and it's a
cinch he's trained to handle his duty like
any one of Uncle Sam's seagoing sons.
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BIG BAD WOLF
(Continued from page 55)
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near Mocambo, but there was his car and
a guy who looked— wait a minute— the guy
didn't look exactly like him. . . - What
Helmut discovered when he delved into
the matter, was just another bit of proof
that he was a Hollywood Wolf m spite of
himself. The pictures had been shot at his
own studio in front of the "Hollywood
Canteen" Mocambo set, with the pretty gas
girl all right, his own car which had been
rolled up from the parking lot— and an
obliging extra who looked like Dantine m
a long shot!
pagliacci of the press . . .
Things like that are happening to Helmut
Dantine. Every time he gets within howl-
ing distance of a gal in public and some-
times even when he doesn't, what happens
to Helmut's rep shouldn't happen to a
dog — I mean, wolf. .
Yep, the power of the press is truly a
wonderful thing when a guy can get him-
self married after a whirlwind courtship
of a girl he has never met! Take tor
instance, the red-hot romance of Helmut
Dantine and Lois Collier.
It's an old Hollywood custom, of course,
to pair off a couple of new names, one male,
one female, to add up to publicity for both
Every studio in Hollywood has worked
that one to death, but usually at least the
romancers show up somewhere together,
or if they don't, they've met or said Hello
over the phone. Helmut's hot and heavy
romance with Lois Collier— a new starlet
of course (with a new press agent, ot
course) started simply enough with a mere
item that they were "romancing No where,
when or why. From that timid step they
were spied together here and there. They
two-stepped at Mocambo, rumba d at
Ciro's. Pretty soon they were cooing by
candlelight at every cafe in town; bolder
yet, they walked unashamed down Pea-
cock Lane at premieres and openings Ihe
Collier-Dantine "romance" flourished like
the green bay tree. One night, Helmut
counted, he and Lois were a deux at five
different places at the same time— Mo-
cambo, Charlie Foy's, a Carthay Circle
premiere, Romanoff's and a cafe at Palm
Springs! A radio fashion and gossip gai
even described the gorgeous gown Lois
was wearing at the premiere, and how
the dashing Helmut escorted her here and
there with his Vienna courtliness! This,
naturally, was news to Helmut, bigger news
still when he learned he'd given the lovely
little lady a ring, and a pure scoop on
himself when his popped eyes discovered
one morning that he had just been married!
He very politely, therefore, walked into
his studio publicity department one day
and inquired, "Now that I am safely mar-
ried and all that, will you please tell me—
who is Lois Collier?"
However, Helmut Dantine has learned
to rise above such rumors gracefully and
even find something to chuckle about m
his phony romances— when they re as
harmless and absurdly humorous as that.
Like that time Helmut showed up at a
cocktail party where Myrna Loy was also
a guest. Myrna was just free from her
Eastern millionaire hubby, Mr. Hertz, at
that point and being unattached, accompa-
nied one of those post-cocktail party groups
that go merrily on to somewhere else. So
did Helmut. At the little Ciro's dancing
party that followed, he tripped a number
of turns with the lovely Loy, and you can
bet there were eyes in the walls. From
that innocent diversion came all sorts ot
rumors that Helmut was comforting
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Myrna's riven heart with his vulpine
Viennese attentions. But, as I say, that
didn't upset him too much, since he actu-
ally had whirled Myrna around and even
taken her home.
In none of those cases did the stories add
up, of course, but after all, Helmut had
been around of his own accord. So no
kicks. But when a malicious interpretation
is put on a purely innocent happenstance —
that's when Dantine's dander gets up.
A few weeks ago, for instance, Helmut
left the studio with another Warner
Brothers actress to take in a spaghetti
dinner at a studio drama coach's house. It
was all very informal. Both Helmut and
the actress had been working. Both took
their own cars. They left the dinner party
later than they'd expected, and the actress
asked Helmut if he'd mind following her
home, since they lived near each other.
Well, on the way the girl pulled up in
front of Schwab's famous drug store on
Sunset, "I think I'll call home," she yelled
to Helmut. Like the gentleman he is, he
hopped out of his own car and opened the
door for his friend, waited until she made
her call and then helped her back in.
Well, in no time at all, the curbstone
kitbitzers who spied this little episode put
four and four together and made fourteen.
The actress, you see, was married. Her
husband, also, was away in Uncle Sam's
service. In no time and one-tenth of a
second, the rumor was rambling around.
Helmut Dantine, the wolf, was chasing after
someone he hadn't ought to. And her ever-
lovin' spouse away fighting the wars, too!
There were the usual snide hints in gossip
columns — and this time Dantine really
burned to a crisp.
his heart belonged to a zombie . . .
The funny thing about Hollywood pub-
licity romances is — usually the phonier
they are the better they're believed. To
show you how screwy it all sums up: For
months now there's been a mythical so-
ciety girl whipping around Hollywood
named "Bettina Scott." Now if anyone
ever saw Bettina Scott in the flesh, he would
probably cross himself and scram hastily,
because if there ever was a zombie, it's
Bettina. The gal's a ghost— a publicity
ghost — created out of an imaginary
"Eastern" Blue Book to get the young un-
known males that Hollywood's crowded
with these days into the public prints.
Even Helmut fell for the Bettina Scott
myth early in his Hollywood career, and
one of the funniest stories they tell on him
was when it came his own turn to get the
Bettina treatment. Helmut dashed into his
publicity department all hot, bothered and
upset. "You've got to deny it!" he stormed.
They wanted to know — deny what? "That
I am courting this Bettina Scott person,"
cried Helmut indignantly. "Why, every one
knows that she's a notorious woman of
terrible reputation!" They quickly soothed
Helmut by explaining patiently that Bet-
tina was only a dreamed -up doll.
wolf of the vienna woods . . .
But about Helmut the Gay Deceiver him-
self. Of course there are plenty of obvious
reasons why handsome Helmut inspires the
wolf cry every time he looks at a lady in
public. The guy is unreasonably good
looking. Everything about his tall, grace-
ful body, his classic-profiled face with its
perfect features, the straight, romantic nose,
expressive mouth and soft gray eyes, is
what any woman who's human would find
too, too tender and understanding. Helmut
has everything to tag him a natural for
the lover type and more than mere looks,
Dantine has everything else a lady-killer
ought to have, in the popular Hollywood
mind. He's Viennese (and anyone knows
that Austrian men are the world's ace
charmers). His accent is just right, not too
thick, but intriguing. He's a dancer out of
this world. He's gay and witty, a quick
conversationalist. He wears his clothes
like Beau Brummell, he's manly and dash-
ing, athletic and a deadly fencer. He's a
bachelor de luxe, uncaught and untamed
(his first marriage hardly counts, it was so
brief) with not even a heartstring perma-
nently snarled. In short, Dantine's too good
to be true. Also, nobody ever said Helmut
was any hermit. No indeed.
On the contrary, he has all kinds of soft
spots for the lovelies of the opposite sex
like any normal guy. Sometimes it's ro-
mance and sometimes just plain friendli-
ness with which Helmut is heavily loaded.
out of bounds . . .
There was one pretty little Warner
Brothers messengerette, for instance, who
tied into a heavy, hopeless crush for Hel-
mut. She was raw on the lot (all the
messenger boys have been replaced by
fillies since the war) and so was Helmut.
But she had the Dantine blues bad, and
wherever Helmut was she'd manage to
show up shadowing him with that worship-
ing look in her eyes. Well, one day, Helmut
ran into his admirer in front of the Green
Room. She said her usual shy "Hello," and
Helmut was feeling particularly friendly
and gay. He smiled, "Come in and have
lunch with me." How could a gal as far
gone as little Louise (that's what we'll call
her because it's not her name) refuse? Who
would? She didn't. Helmut had a grand,
expansive lunch date, absolutely unmind-
ful of the strange looks that darted his way.
But he never saw his little friend after
that and never thought much about it until
weeks later he happened to inquire. Then
he found she'd almost lost her job because
of having had lunch with him.
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That episode dismayed Helmut and made
him more discreet with his fans, but it
didn't damper his friendliness one speck or
his terrific admiration for American
beauties. Dantine's best girl friends are
girls he has met in and around Hollywood.
He's the American girl's number one press
agent and booster. He thinks they re tops
the freshest, prettiest, most natural and
altogether swooney young things that you 11
find anywhere on the globe. He likes them
best, too, when they aren't actresses be-
cause, as he says, "After acting all day I ve
had enough acting." The reason he puts
the finger on foreign girls, too, is that when
he runs across them in Hollywood they try
to play up their accents and Continental
manners, which hands Helmut a pain right
above his collar bone. Hand kissing and
heel clicking and all that sort of stuff is
okay, Helmut believes, where it cuts some
mustard— but over here in America, confi-
dentially he believes it— well, you know.
He's worked like a Turk ever since he
arrived to iron out his Austrian accent.
He's collected American slang and idiom
like fans collect autographs. He dresses like
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ioo AT YOUR FAVORITE 5 & 10 or DRUGSTORE
anv young American campus hero not long
out of college. He's already become a super
fan for football and American sports. The
biggest kick he's had in weeks came the
other night when a Pasadena society girl
invited him as her escort to a dinner party.
He'd never met his hostess before, and on
the way home his girl teased him with a
trade-last. Helmut came through with how
beautiful she was so she gave out with
the tl "Mrs. So-and-So thinks you re
nice,"' said Dantine's date. "As I left she
said 'What a clean-cut, typically American
voung man Mr. Dantine is. So completely
different from these refugees you see
around these days!' "
In fact, the lone Continental hangover
that Helmut totes around is his respectful,
gallant attitude toward women. He s not
smooth in the foppish way, but his man-
ners are super. He's the kind of date who
always notices a gal's perfume what she s
wearing. He sends flowers when they re
called for, takes prompt care of all the
little gallantries like opening doors, seating
chairs, phoning before dates, .lighting
cigarettes and such. But the mam ticket
that lets Helmut in solid with most lovelies
is his sincere but flattering interest m the
gal as a person. It's a respectful attitude
and one a lot of cocky American males are
quite likely to skip. A couple of his very
best girl friends today, in fact, he met and
made time with through this very trait.
You wouldn't know them if I named
them, because they aren't remotely con-
nected with pictures (as few of Helmut s
favored sweeties are), but one is a clever
co-ed at UCLA, where Helmut served a
stretch as a student when he first came to
this country. In fact he met this girl at a
reunion party for the Class of 39. She s
pretty, with soft brown eyes, a slim figure
and rich, waving hair. But what interested
Helmut-and don't laugh-was her in-
telligence. Yep, he got to talking to the
attractive co-ed and discovered she was
majoring in philosophy, a subject in which
he's a deep delver at home. Discovered,
too, that the only way he could enjoy her
company was on the campus, because she
didn't go out nights.
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safety in numbers . . .
Then there's the girl Helmut ran into
at the Beverly Hills Tennis Club. Dantine's
no slouch of an athlete, and when he has
an afternoon off, he usually skips over to
Lakeside Country Club for a swim or out
to the B.H.T.C. for a set of tennis. That's
where he first noticed "the colt" and her
form — both tennis and otherwise. She was
definitely the outdoor type, lean and a
little rangy, with a merry, freckled face,
honey-colored pigtails and twinkling blue
eyes. "Like a young colt," marveled Hel-
mut, observing the stylish way she handled
her racquet and how lustily she swatted
the ball. It wasn't long until they were
exchanging tennis tips, and then Helmut
found himself drafted for a set of doubles
with "the colt" as partner. That started a
tennis courtship that's been going on in a
breezy, relaxed manner ever since. Because
Helmut found out the girl was as charm-
ingly natural off the court as on, and as
fresh and irresistible in evening dresses as
she was in shorts. And the first day tennis
match that ended primly with a "thanks
for the game," has grown into a definite
romance.
If you ask Helmut Dantine to name the
kind of girl friend he likes best, he looks
puzzled and tries to explain that that de-
pends on the occasion. He's not kidding
either. He thinks variety in women is the
spice of a bachelor's life— and he's the
bachelor who can certainly stir up the
variety. He has girl friends he takes horse-
back riding, others he seldom sees except
to play chess, of all things. He has society
girls he met when he lived in Pasadena,
one former fencing pupil (when he earned
his way with foils through the Community
Playhouse) whom Helmut seldom sees ex-
cept at dignified Pasadena social functions
or to beau to plays and symphonies. There's
a girl up in Santa Barbara's snooty Mon-
tecito millionaire colony, a member of the
horsey set, that some New York friends
introduced him to by mail whom he sees
whenever he has a free week-end and can
climb on a North-bound train. When he
dines or dances at his favorite Hollywood
haunts — LaRue, Mocambo, the Players or
Romanoffs — Helmut invariably has a local
gal on his arm, someone extra-lovely like
Ava Gardner, Constance Dowling or Judy
Garland.
That picture gallery may not be much
help to a Helmut-happy gal anxious to
measure up to a Dantine ideal. But after
seeing a few photographs and talking the
matter over earnestly with Helmut him-
self, I'd say if you'd be Helmut Dantine's
Dream Supreme you would —
Be pretty and preferably blonde. Add up
to about twenty years of age (he's twenty-
five). Be natural, with no false eyelashes,
red nail polish or trick hair do's anywhere
around. (He can't stand 'em.) Dance di-
vinely. (Because so does Helmut.) Play
some outdoor game well. (Because he plays
several.) Have a brain. (Because he has
his serious moments.) Own a funny-bone.
(Because he loves to laugh.) Have good
taste and good manners. (To match his
own.) Be honest, and direct — a chick with
no tricks.
If that adds up discouragingly to Miss E
Pluribus Unum, the Ail-American Girl-
well, what have I been telling you? If
Helmut Dantine is in love with anyone,
she's the lucky lady. For one thing, he
knows that it was the girls of America who
made him the Hollywood hero he is today.
He knows he owes the death of Helmut the
Heavy and his big romantic chance in his
next picture, "Hotel Berlin," to the ardent
feminine clamors that swamped Warners'
from Seattle to Savannah. So he's faithful
to all of 'em.
Besides, being a wary "wolf," Helmut
Dantine believes there's safety in numbers.
e0
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MARRIAGE IS STRICTLY OKAY!
(Continued from page 67)
For one thing, there was David. Al-
though he turned out not to be a compli-
cation after all. David was Dana s son by
his first wife who died soon after the boy s
birth. Maybe, Dana worried, Mary
wouldn't like the idea of a ready-made
family. But Mary thought it was wonder-
ful She met David, and they adored each
other immediately. Dana let out a long
sigh of relief. That was one hurdle
The next one was tougher. Dana was
being backed financially by some men who
had faith in his ability. They were staking
him" to his training at the Playhouse.
"I can't ask them to stake me to mar-
riage, too," he told Mary. "When I get
married, I want to be able to support my
wife myself. Then I can boss her around
and make her like it!" He grinned hap-
pily. He was always happy when he was
with Mary. , ,
So they went on being engaged, and
waiting for something to break. And
break it did, at last. Sam Goldwyn signed
Dana to a contract! That was the kind
of moment you dream about— when the
moon comes down out of the sky and
slides into your pocket. Dana flew to
^"Th^waiting's over, baby!" he said ex
ultantly. "Now we can get married.
Mary laughed and cried and kissed him
and everything was beautiful For about
twenty-four hours. Then Dana had a
little talk with Goldwyn's representative
"By the way," he said, trying to sound
casual, "I'm planning to get married. Very
nice girl named Mary Todd.
The representative impaled him on a
sharp and icy glance. "Look here, An-
drews, I'm afraid that wont do. We
signed you as a single man. We ve got
a lot of plans for building you into a
glamour boy. Romances witn your leading
women, that sort of thing. You ve got
to be seen around town with the right
people."
"But listen, I'm engaged to Mary Im—
I'm in love with her. Terribly. We want
to get married right away." Dana s heavy
brows drew together in anxiety. lhis
was bad. . ,
"Sorry," said the representative with
finality "Mr. Goldwyn wouldnt like it.
Reluctantly, Dana went off to tell Mary
Usually she was calm about things, but
she wasn't calm about this. She was
^"Those— those people.'" she cried, pound-
ing the arm of her chair in rage. Telling
you how to run your life! Trying to make
you go out with other girls!"
"They can't make me do that, Dana
told her grimly, thrusting out a very de-
termined chin. "And listen, darling, if you
say so, I'll tear up this contract and throw
it in their face." t
"Oh fine." Mary was bitter. then
we'd be right back where we started from
Backed by those men, and we couldn t get
married that way either. No, listen, Dana,
the only thing to do is toy make Mr.
Goldwyn see it our way. After all, he s
an intelligent man."
sit-home strike . . .
"Yeah, but Mary, I don't get to see
Mr Goldwyn. I mean, he signed me to
a contract and all that, but that doesnt
mean he comes around inviting me to his
house for dinner." . ,
"Well, go and see him." Mary said
stubbornly.
But it wasn't as simple as that. Dana
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One look at that dazzling grin and the girls are putty in his hands. And don't think the
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Wash right away? Not Pebeco. It's super-fine to make teeth glow!"
tried and found that Mr. Goldwyn was
always in New York or Washington or
in conference. So he thrust his chin out
farther and adopted a policy of passive
resistance. When the studio dreamed up
romances for him, he just smiled pleas-
antly and forgot to show up for the dates.
When he was invited out without Mary,
he politely declined. Mr. Goldwyn's rep-
resentative called him over and said irri-
tably, "Are you still going around with
that girl? I notice they don't seem to
be able to link you up with anyone else."
"I told you," Dana said, "I'm in love
with her. We want to get married."
The representative sighed. "If this wasn't
Hollywood, I'd believe I'd met true love
at last. Maybe I have, anyway. I give
up, Andrews. You'll have to talk to Mr.
Goldwyn." He even made an appointment
for Dana. The appointment was the next
morning at eleven, so Dana told Mary
to meet him at noon. By then they'd
know. By then the waiting would be
over. The night before the appointment,
Dana rehearsed a lengthy and — he hoped—
convincing speech. It began "Mr. Gold-
wyn, you're a man of common sense." It
pointed out the pitfalls which awaited an
unattached young actor in Hollywood. It
spoke of the energy wasted in long rides
to Mary's house, and of the nervous strain
of long engagements. It went — touchingly,
Dana thought — into the happy marriages
combined with high box office rating of
various male stars. It was undoubtedly
a honey of a speech, and he learned every
word of it by heart.
Next day he showed up at eleven o'clock
and was told to wait. He waited, biting
his nails. This meeting was damned im-
portant. It was, Dana was convinced, a
lot more important than anything else
Mr. Goldwyn happened to be doing at the
moment. After all, it meant the happiness
of two people, didn't it?
psychological moment . . .
Just then all hell broke loose outside the
window. There was a scream of a fire
siren, followed by shouts, general commo-
tion and the shrieking of engine wheels.
Two large fire trucks arrived, disgorging
firemen like rabbits from a hat. Also rather
like a rabbit from a hat, a small, grey-
haired man popped from an inner office.
"What's going on here?" he demanded.
"It's just a little fire, Mr. Goldwyn,"
said the receptionist hastily.
Mr. Goldwyn stalked to the window and
peered out at the lines of hose being
unrolled. He snorted.
Dana approached him hesitantly. This
was definitely not the setting he'd had in
mind for his speech. In fact, he'd forgot-
ten the speech entirely. But here was
(Continued on page 106)
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QUIZ ANSWERS
(Continued from page 92)
1. Ann Sheridan
2. John Garfield
3. Diana Lynn
4. Cary Grant
5. Alexander Knox
6. Esther Williams
7. Alan Ladd
8. Dick Haymes
9. Sonja Henie
10. Clark Gable
11. Erich von Stroheim
12 Susanna Foster
13. Dick Powell
14. Lana Turner
15. Edward G. Robinson
16. Paul Lukas
17. Rita Hayworth
18. William Bendix
19. William Eythe
20. Eddie Bracken
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what's cookin, kids?
Peggy Ryan gives out with the sort of fanfare and
party plans the younger set will go for in a big way!
■ Special occasions coming up soon! Days— like Washing-
ton's and Lincoln's Birthdays, Valentine Day and St. Patrick s
Day — which can so conveniently serve as pegs on which to
hang plans for festive and appropriate parties.
Not that you really need any such excuse or inspiration,
claims Peggy Ryan, if you go in for the kind of strictly
informal shindigs her particular crowd prefers.
"Any Saturday night in any month of the year is oke with
us, especially if we're entertaining boys in the service who
are stationed hereabouts or are back home on furlough,
declared Peggy, with Irish eyes a-smilin'. "Sometimes we
have a gathering just of girls ... to plan for and talk about
our boy friends overseas. But whatever the date or the
doings we always have good times and good food!
"What do we do and what do we eat? Well, that depends
on the occasion, the number that get together and the place
where we meet. F'r'instance ...
"When we go to Jane Withers' house its sure to be a
swimming party because she has the pool. Marcie McGuire
gives living room parties with guessing games and the like.
Cora Sue Collins features outdoor barbecues. Johnny Pironne
—because his mother, Mary, makes the best spaghetti in the
whole wide world— goes in for spaghetti dinners. Me, I have
f
Mrs. Ryan lends a helping hand whenever her dancing daughter
asks' the gang to their house . . . and the resulting dishes are
simply super!
'Here Come the Co-eds" is Peggy's next picture.
At her recent homecoming party, Peggy's pals— including Marcie
McGuire and Virginia Weidler— gathered around as she imitated
Winchell, on whose broadcast she appeared while in New York.
104
By Nancy Wood
a Whoopee Room, where the fireplace
makes indoor barbecues possible — al-
though, mostly, we have buffet suppers.
"What do we do at our house? Dance,
of course." (Can you imagine Peggy not
dancing, after seeing her with Donald
O'Connor in those merry Universal musi-
cals, the latest of which is "Bowery to
Broadway"!) "Then we play games," she
went on, "and do stunts. But suppose I
describe some of these get-togethers for
you. And," suggested Peggy, "maybe you
would like to know what we serve."
Would we like to know! Can you imagine
. . . when that was what we had come to
see her about, having heard tell that it's
fine fare they'd be featuring at the Ryans'.
But let's get back to the party. To any
one of several different types of parties,
to be exact — with a brief outline of the
foods Peggy provides. It's "herself" that
will be describing them for us.
PROVING PARTY: "Someone's always
saying 'I make the most deevine cake' . . .
or 'You should just taste my Welsh Rabbit!'
To which we reply, 'Well, we'll get together
and you can prove it.' Gives everyone a
chance to cook and — although the com-
binations sometimes are odd — the all-over
effect is nothing if not interesting. Once
people prove their culinary skill they be-
come members in good standing and are
often called on to turn out their specialties.
FURLOUGH PARTY: "As the name sug-
gests, this is for fellows home on furlough.
They can bring their friends in uniform,
too; and they can even issue invitations to
others who, for good and sufficient reasons,
are not in the services. But to us girls, ad-
mission is 'by serviceman only'! Or else we
can come unescorted as the boys never
seem to think there are too many girls.
Quite the contrary, they claim the more
'femmes' the merrier!
ITINERARY PARTY: "A welcome-home
affair, where the returned traveler has to
put on an act as he or she describes the
highlights of the recent trip. I threw that
kind of a party at my house when Mom
and I got back from our New York jaunt."
(The picture on the opposite page was
taken on that particular occasion.)
PROXY PARTY: "Strictly a feminine
gathering— and downright sentimental,
composed as it is chiefly of married and
engaged girls or those who are 'promised'
or 'going steady.'
"We tell our favorite absentees, well in
advance, that we're having such a get-to-
gether and tell them to be thinking of us
on that certain night, as we'll all be think-
ing of them. Then, at the party, we write
them round-robin letters on long rolls of
paper, tell them the latest news of Holly-
wood doings and send them our latest
snapshots. We've had flocks of letters say-
ing how much this has meant to them.
"Why don't you give such a party, too?"
was Peggy's final suggestion to our readers.
But before signing off in this helpful
manner, the "Pride of the Ryans" gave
us some swell suggestions for party
fare. It's her very own recipes that
we're offering, FREE, this month. And
what a collection for a collation! Two
salads — both simple: Macaroni, and
Carrot and Raisin. Meat Loaf — a point
saver if ever we saw one. Frosted
Bread Loaf — dressy looking and deli-
cious. Peanut Butter Cookies — tooth-
some morsels for casual crunching dur-
ing the long evening of fun. And
finally the Devil's Food Cake that Peg's
grandmother taught her how to bake
Want 'em? Well, you can have 'em
Just mail your request to: THE MOD-
ERN HOSTESS, Dept. P. R., MODERN
SCREEN MAGAZINE, 149 Madison Ave.,
N. Y. 16, N. Y. (and be sure to enclose
a stamped, self -addressed envelope.)
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Mr. Goldwyn— and a golden opportunity.
"Mr. Goldwyn," he said cautiously, "I'm
Dana Andrews."
"What?" By then the firemen were
making so much noise you couldn't hear
yourself think.
"I'm Dana Andrews'." He shouted it this
time.
"Yes. What do you want?" Mr. Gold-
wyn didn't look at him. He was still
staring out of the window.
"■Well— I— uh." It was awfully hard to
put such a personal question to someone
who was absorbed in watching a lire.
Especially when you had to yell it at the
top of your lungs. But it was, Dana^ de-
cided desperately, now or never. "Mr.
Goldwyn, I want to know if I can get
married!"
Outside the window, the firemen sud-
denly reeled in their hose, climbed back
on the trucks and drove off. The fire was
over. Mr. Goldwyn looked at Dana ab-
sently. "I'll think it over and let you
know," he said, and darted back into his
office.
A month went by after that. Six weeks.
Two months. Mr. Goldwyn was obviously
thinking it over very hard indeed. Mary
worried so much she lost all the weight
she'd gained the summer before and more,
too. Dana was too upset to appreciate
her new slimness. Finally, he saw Mr.
Goldwyn again, by accident, this time in
the projection room. And suddenly, Dana
got mad. There had been time and to
spare for thinking things over.
"Mr. Goldwyn," he said loudly, "what
did you decide about my getting married?"
Mr. Goldwyn peered at him in amaze-
ment. Everyone in - the projection room
held their breath, including Dana. Then
the great man spoke. "I guess I forgot
to tell you, my boy," he said amiably. "It's
strictly okay. Go ahead." ,
So, just like that, everything was set-
tled. Dana could hardly believe it, after
all the months of waiting. He was so
happy that he felt as if he were drifting
around in a balloon. He came down to
earth in a hurry though, when he got
his father's letter. Dana's father was a
minister, and strict. He had always con-
sidered the stage and motion pictures in-
ventions of the devil and had preached
against them for years. When Dana was
a kid, he used to get a whipping every
Wednesday night regularly. Because Wed-
nesday was prayer meeting night, and was
Dana at prayer meeting? He was not!
He was sitting in a "two for a quarter"
movie house down the block, chewing gum
and watching with utter absorption what-
ever was happening on the screen. Yeah,
he knew he would get a licking when he
got home. But he figured it was worth it.
Dana's father had been pretty bitter
over Dana's becoming an actor. And when
he heard his son was going to marry an
actress, you should see the letter Dana
got.
It said a lot, and among other things was
this: "My son, I am older than you and
know more of the world. Take my ad-
vice and forget this infatuation. Actresses
are handled goods."
"Handled goods." Dana thought of Mary,
her background of culture, her demure
gaiety, her charming parents. The whole
thing struck him funny. This was a riot.
This was the joke of the season. He tore
off in search of his fiancee, waving his
father's letter in his hand. As you might
imagine, Mary didn't think it was funny
at all. No girl likes to hear that her fu-
ture father-in-law considers her practi-
cally a Scarlet Woman. She refused to
join in Dana's laughter, and when she
told her mother about it, Mrs. Todd al-
most called off the wedding. Her precious
daughter, who had gone to the best private
schools, been protected by a devoted fam-
ily, being referred to as "handled goods"!
Of course, eventually everything was
straightened out. Mary wrote to Dana's
father and got a very courtly letter in
return, which said he could see he had
been entirely wrong about her, and he
was delighted that Dana was getting such
a sweet wife.
all or nothing ...
The day of the wedding the local so-
ciety columnist ran a large picture of
Mary and Dana with the caption, "Mary
Todd gives up career to marry actor."
And that was just what Mary was going to
do. They had talked it over seriously,
sensibly. Mary was a darn good actress.
She might quite possibly have a real fu-
ture ahead of her in that field. She could
get more out of a comedy role than any
girl at the Playhouse, and in a lot of ways
she hated to give it up.
"But being married to you will be
enough, Dana," she said positively. "We
both want a family, and there's David,
and your career is going to be terribly
important from now on. I don't want to
be just half a wife." Dana kissed her,
hard, because he knew how much it meant
to her to make this decision. And Mary
rested her head on his shoulder and felt
a happiness that she had never known.
So the wedding came off on schedule,
and Dana was the handsomest groom in
history. They had two heavenly days to-
gether, and then he had to leave for
Tucson on location for "The Westerner."
It was his first part for Goldwyn, and he
was pretty excited.
Mary, meanwhile, was busy as a whole
hive of bees, learning to cook. A lot of
people had told her what a big eater Dana
was, and she was going to be prepared.
The first morning after he got back, they
had bacon. Mary put a large griddle on
the stove, and conscientiously fried one
pound of bacon. li wasn't a gag— she just
wanted to be sure Dana had enough.
Then there was the affair of the Apple
Brown Betty and their first quarrel. Brown
Betty was Dana's favorite dessert, and
Mary had taken enormous pains to get it
right. She cooked it in a casserole, and
was bringing it triumphantly through the
swinging door into the dining room when
the holder slipped. The casserole was
steaming hot, and when Mary tried to
grab it, she burned herself, shrieked and
dropped the whole thing on the brand new
dining room rug. Dana watched hilari-
ously, while expressions chased each
other across her face — surprise, panic and
anguish in rapid succession. It was too
much for him. He burst into wild shouts
of laughter, as she gazed hopelessly down
at^the appalling mess on the new rug.
"I hate you!" Mary announced in cold
fury, and went upstairs and slammed the
bedroom door.
On the whole, though, they lived in a
state of idyllic happiness. Dana developed
an acute interest in gardens. He'd never
raised as much as a sunflower before, but
now suddenly, he was absorbed in seed
catalogues and books on perennials.
"He won't even use plain, ordinary
earth, Mary told their friends plaintively.
It all has to be mixed by hand, in the
proper proportions, like a Martini!"
Dana was using the garden as a sort of
safety valve. Because for seven months
he didnt work in pictures at all. After
The Westerner" he made "Sailor's Lady"
and "Cisco Kid." He had good parts in
both of them. Everyone congratulated
himon his quick rise. But after that—
nothing. For seven long months.
Then came "Two Men and a Girl." Dana
had the second lead in that. He was all
set now, everyone said. He'd be a star
any day. Oh snr°, but still nothing hap-
Our husband belongs io us again !
Julie: Can it be true? Jack has fallen
in love with me again ! He's mine— '
just like in the beginning!
Her Other Self: Of course it's true,
darling— except you mean he's OURS.
It's US he's in love with, this time!
I'm your smarter self . . . remember?
I'm the one who told you to go see
Dr. B. when you wanted to go home
to mother after that big quarrel.
Julie: Yes, that was wise— seeing the
doctor.
H.O.S.: Wise! That's a prize under-
statement! Dr. B. turned out to be a
one-man rescue party for your . . . our
marriage when he explained about
the "one neglect".
Julie: But I never even dreamed that
a wife can lose her husband's love by
being careless about feminine hygiene.
H.O.S.: Well, Dr. B. set you straight
on that— and he told you what to do
about it, too.
Julie: Yes. He told me to use Lysol
disinfectant for my feminine hygiene
care. "An effective germ-killer that
cleanses thoroughly and deodorizes"
—that's what he said.
H.O.S.: Correct! And it doesn't harm
sensitive vaginal tissues, either. All
you have to do is follow the simple
directions for douching.
Julie: How right he was! I've found
Lysol so easy to use— so quick and
economical.
H.O.S.: And . . .
Julie: And it works wonderfully!
H.O.S.: AND . . .
Julie: All right, Mrs. Smartie— since
you love hearing it. I'll say it: Our
husband belongs to us again!
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pened. More gardening. Then "Kit Car-
son." Dana liked his part — it had a lot
of possibilities.
"This'll do it," his agent said, rubbing
his hands gleefully. "They'll be fighting
over you for romantic leads now, kid."
So did Dana's name go up in lights? It
did not. He set his square jaw deter-
minedly and worked harder than ever on
his next picture, "Swampwater." Then he
got a nice gangster part in "Ball of Fire."
By now, Mary was so proud of him she
almost burst. But Dana wasn't satisfied.
Finally, along came "The Ox-Bow Inci-
dent," and Dana clicked in a way he never
had before. You know how good he was
in "Up In Arms" and "The Purple Heart."
Dana was going places, and no one could
stop him.
Meanwhile he and Mary built a new
house.
something new will be added . . .
"It's really right," Dana said in com-
plete satisfaction, a month or so after
they had moved in. "David is nuts over
that room of his, and our quarters are
wonderful, and— well, the whole thing is
right, that's all."
There was a silence from Mary. He
looked at her, surprised. "I thought you
liked it, darling. Something wrong?"
"Gosh," Mary said, her blue eyes plead-
ing, "it's so silly you won't believe it.
But— look, I know it seemed as if we
weren't going to have any family except
David, so we didn't build a nursery. And
now we are, and there isn't any place to
put him— her— it." Her voice trailed off
into a wail. She sounded positively guilty.
Dana reached out a long arm and
grabbed her exultantly. "We'll find a
place, you crazy, adorable moron! Have I
mentioned lately that I adore you?"
So the Andrews family eventually ac-
quired a daughter called Kathie, who was
undoubtedly the most beautiful baby ever
born. David was so excited he could
hardly stand it, and went around boasting
to everyone about his baby sister. But
when Mary came back from the hospital
with Kathie there was still no nursery.
Dana took David aside and put matters up
to him. He could either move out of his
room and sleep downstairs, or they'd put
the baby's crib in his room with him.
"Sure, put her in with me," David said
grandly. "I'm not getting out of my room
for anybody." Then he reconsidered. "I
don't know, though. She's awful cute,
and I guess she ought to have her own
room. I'll move downstairs, dad."
So that was that, and Kathie grew to
her present two years with young David
watching over her in a most proprietory
way. Kathie, of course, adores him, and
follows him around at every opportunity.
She's an active youngster and Dana had a
wall built around the whole yard, so
Kathie could wander safely. Now, of
course, she spends her entire time devising
new methods of getting over the wall.
The stork is flapping his wings over
the Andrews menage again, and David is
hoping for another sister. Dana and Mary
will be happy with either a boy or girl-
Mary is convinced that she is the luckiest
wife in the world and when you look at
Dana, you agree with her. It's — well, a sort
of feeling you get that here's a guy you
could really go for. A guy that's solid and
dependable, and yet terribly exciting. It's
an odd combination, and you think about
it, and say to yourself that it can't all be
there, you must have imagined it. ^ Then
you see Dana again, and you think "Gosh,
he does have everything. No wonder
Mary is so happy." And it gives you a
pleasant sort of hunch that maybe some-
where in the world is another guy like
Dana — for you!
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SWEET AND LOVELY
(Continued from page 75)
My one cream instantly beautifies your
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ing test, not giving it much thought. She
was still remembering Sunday in which
she had entered another camera contest
and had been declared Camera Queen.
Contests were affairs she understood and
conquered; screen tests were quaint forms
of defeat. She wasn't going to let this one
bother her, however. Nor those other two
if she decided to take them.
She never did. She signed her contract
at 20th. And, still dazed after a prepara-
tory lapse of a few months, she was put
on a train with a Fox company eastbound
to film "Home in Indiana."
Not only was it her first train ride, it was
her first trip out of California, and the third
long trip of her life.
crain's tour of u. s. . . .
She wrote to Rita, "After the war, if
someone should say to you, 'Let's have
dinner in London', you'll feel exactly the
way I feel about this trip. I'm beginning to
feel very worldly and traveled. Now that
we're established in this town to make the
picture, mobs of girls and boys hang around
and ask for autographs. They even ask me
for autographs. And I give them, even
though I know my name doesn't mean
much."
Those kids who got Jeanne's "Home In
Indiana" autographs are probably shaking
hands with themselves twice a day, after
having seen the picture.
After "Indiana" Jeanne won the lead in
"In The Meantime, Darling," which she
didn't like because she can't stand herself
in black and white. She likes Technicolor
much better and is happy her next, " State
Fair," will be rainbow-reeled.
While Jeanne was working in "Victory,"
director George Cukor remarked one day,
"You've shown remarkable progress in a
short time, Jeanne. You should begin
to study with some good teacher."
The next thing Jeanne knew, she was
taking a daily two -hour drama lesson
from Madame Ludmilla Pitoeff, formerly
one of the great European actresses.
Don't think, though, that contests — or the
memory of them — have completely gone
out of Jeanne's life. When the Hollywood
post office issued the first of the three cent
commemorative stamps in honor of the
Fiftieth Anniversary of the Motion Picture
Industry, a representative from each studio
was sent to the post office for a ceremony.
Each person was given five commemora-
tive stamps, and two "first day" covers.
Jeanne took them home with pride to add
to her stamp collection. -
She told Rita, "Do you realize the last
time I bought home stamps for my collec-
tion, I won them at school?"
They dragged out the huge album —
"Here are the stamps I won in that con-
test. . . ." Jeanne started to say, then
stopped in horror. The stamps were Jap-
anese commemoratives.
Rita saved the situation. "They'll be
twice as valuable after the Empire has
been licked to a frazzle," she said staunchly.
Jeanne had one more thing to say about
the day. "I met one of the prettiest girls in
Hollywood," she confided. "Diana Lynn.
I thought she was wonderful in 'Our Hearts
Were Young and Gay.' "
Rita, a freshman in University, agreed
with a sigh. "It must be wonderful to go
around, meeting movie stars."
Jeanne nodded. She uttered her final
words on her career: "I never thought it
would happen to me."
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JENNY MADE HER MIND DP
(Continued jrom page 43)
don't ask for details of that evening. It
was just one great big beautiful daze.
Her father didn't want her to be an
actress. She never wanted anything else.
As owner of a string of Texas theaters,
he had nothing against the stage except
it was tough, and he didn't want his only
child to have her ears knocked down.
She understands that now, because she
feels the same way about her own children.
Dad's line used to be, "It's cheaper to
hire an actress than to raise one." Jenni-
fer's line was, "I'm not getting any
younger." She started giving it to Dad
when she was seventeen. Later, she handed
Mr. Selznick the same line —
"When am I going to work? Am I ever
going to work? I'm getting older by the
minute — "
"Just cool your heels," he'd say. "We're
waiting till the right thing comes along — "
Of course he was right. He's always
right. Bernadette came along, and "Since
You Went Away" and now "Love Letters."
It's a beautiful story. Mr. Selznick's lend-
ing her and Joe Cotten to Hal Wallis of
Paramount for that one — .
cup of kindness . . .
When she's not on a picture, her time's
divided between the children and working
as a Nurse's Aide. Nursing seemed the best
thing she could do for the war effort. Her
attitude toward it's professional, not
romantic. Men suffer and die, which isn't
a happy thing. But it's life, and you don't
hide away from life.
Up at 5:45, she stays at the hospital till
noon. Till they got to know you, patients
feel a little dubious about Nurse's Aides.
There's one old man Jennifer won't soon
forget. He was pretty grumpy —
"Are you going to bathe me? Well, you
don't have to put my head down. Leave my
glasses alone. Don't pull the blanket off.
You go about this funnier than anyone I
ever saw, and I've been here five years — "
She humored him, and the crust began
to crack. When he found out later that
she was Jennifer Jones, he asked to see
her. She hoped he wasn't going to apolo-
gize— .
Well, she needn't have worried. It was
an apology, but the cutest one she'd ever
heard. For a minute he looked at her, the
way Lionel Barrymore looks in "Dr. Gilles-
pie." "Next time," he said, "you don't have
to be so gentle with me. I'm an old desert
rat—." " , ,
The rest of the day belongs to the chil-
dren— from lunchtime till she reads them
to sleep with their current favorite, Mr.
Milne's tale of stout Mr. Edward Bear. They
love teddybears above all animals except
maybe live dogs. The burning question of
the moment is: "Will the ne v iiur a like
dogs?" The old one didn't. She sai 1 "Either
the dog goes or I go." At the time they
needed the nurse more, so J. J. — the dear
little cocker spaniel named by Bob after
Jennifer's initials— went away. If the new
nurse likes dogs, Dad's promised them a
new dog who'll never go away —
Jennifer talks simply and without con-
straint of her happy days with Bob Walker.
The only thing she won't talk about is their
separation. Both boys look like their
father. Robert, the 4-year-old, is an ex-
trovert, friend to all the world. Michael's
a year younger and romantic-looking —
with long lashes shading Charles Boyer-
eyes. Despite these undeniable points,
Jennifer worries more about Michael. He's
a moody little- dreamer, and she's afraid
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life may be rough on him. She carries
pictures in her wallet, but of course they
don't do the boys justice.
At twenty-odd, she feels she's really
getting old, because she's no longer
ashamed to confess her childhood vani-
ties. Chief among them was a longing for
brown eyes. Hers looked brown sometimes,
but sometimes they looked gray or green
-^-especially when she turned toward the
light. So, in talking to people, she'd man-
euver her face toward the shadows. That
went on for years— till somebody said her
eyes were nice, even if they weren't brown.
"Who wants brown eyes anyway?" she
asked her mirror that night. It's a story
she'd have blushed to tell until recently.
She was Phylis Isley in those days — ■
Phylis with one 1, and she can't think why
unless Mother didn't know how to spell.
(That's a joke, Mother, in case you should
read this.) Maybe brown eyes would have
given her more self-confidence, but prob-
ably not. There was no special reason for
her to be shy, she just was. Certainly her
background had nothing to do with it.
Home was a happy place — Mother and Dad
gave her all the love and encouragement
a girl could want, not to mention material
things. But Jennifer lacked assurance,
except when she was acting. Acting re-
leased her. Dad didn't know what he was
storing up for himself when he had her
take lessons in expression. "Don't make an
actress of her," he told the teacher. "I just
want her to say little pieces for me and
my friends — "
He might as well have said, "Give her
wings, but don't let her fly."
It was the same way at school. They
moved from Oklahoma City to Dallas to
Tulsa. Every time Jennifer changed
schools, she'd feel she didn't belong till
they put on a play. After that, she was in.
At Montecassino, where she boarded for a
year, it was awful at first. Her roommate
was one of those gay, colorful girls whom
everyone loved. For a while Jennifer tried
to pattern herself after Betty, but that was
a flop —
"What d'you expect?" she'd apostro-
phize herself scornfully. "You dull, color-
less creature, all arms and legs—!" Then
she'd soften a little. "Never mind, poor
child. Just wait till a play comes along — ."
too good to be true . . .
The play always worked wonders-
brought her inward assurance and ap-
plause from her little world. But when
the girls got together and talked about
after-school plans and asked Jennifer what
she was going to do, she'd say, "Oh — get
married, I guess, or be a nurse." She
could no more have said actress than
queen. The goal was too glorious. Who did
she think she was, anyway?
To herself, though, she never stopped
saying actress. Finally, she started talk-
ing to Mother about it. Even to Dad in
a kind of experimental way. The experi-
ment didn't take. Because when she came
right out with it shortly before gradua-
tion, Dad put his foot down.
It was her high school dramatics teacher
who precipitated the crisis. "You ought
to go to New York to study," she told
J ennif er.
"New York's no place for a girl of seven-
teen," said Dad. "Besides, we thought
you were going to Vassar."
That's where shy little Jennifer's foot
came down. First, she'd never be able to
pass the exams. And even if she could, no
more girls' schools for her. If New York
was out, she'd go to a co-ed college —
They compromised on Northwestern. At
least it had a good speech department.
Jennifer joined a sorority, and she must
have attended classes, but all that's vague
background for one outstanding event.
She played Jessica in "Merchant of Venice."
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David Bruce played Bassanio. He's in pic-
tures now. Then, he was merely dream-
man of the world to every co-ed on the
campus.
Jennifer thought she was good, despite
the constructive criticism of a young doc-
tor who was courting her at the time.
"If you'd hold your head differently," he
complained, "your neck wouldn't look so
long. Personally, I like long necks, but
after all, there's a limit."
"What do necks have to do with acting?"
she demanded loftily, and never really for-
gave him till she met David Bruce in New
York a couple of years later.
"You've certainly improved," he said
kindly. "Remember that singsong business
you gave us at Northwestern?"
How she got to New York was by argu-
ing. One year at college was all she could
stand. Why waste her life on liberal arts?
What did liberal arts have to do with
acting? As long as she wasn't acting, she'd
be unhappy, and the years were passing,
and she wasn't getting any younger. Other
girls started acting at four. Look at Shir-
ley Temple —
juliet on 57th street . . .
"You should have been a lawyer," sighed
Dad, and capitulated. He and Mother es-
corted her to New York, settled her at
the Barbizon Hotel for Women, watched
her do a scene from "Romeo and Juliet" for
the director of the American Academy.
She was still up in heaven with Juliet,
when Dad brought her down to earth
with a bang — ■
"She's never been away from home alone
before," he was saying to Mr. Deistel, "and
the traffic's pretty heavy around here — "
He couldn't understand why she was so
upset. "Juliet!" she kept muttering darkly.
"Being led by the hand across 57th
Street—"
School was thrilling that first year. There
was a boy named Bob Walker, a mar-
velous actor — all the girls died to have
him in their class. So when he was cast
as Browning to Jennifer's Elizabeth in
"The Barretts of Wimpole Street," her cup
ran over. The only bad thing was, he didn't
want to do it —
"But why not? It's such a wonderful
part—"
He wouldn't tell her at first. Not till
they got to know each other better. Then
one day he broke down. "Because the
pants are so tight, and my legs are so
skinny," he confessed.
Jennifer went home for the summer.
First day she got back, Bob phoned. He
wasn't going back to school. He was put-
ting on "Springtime for Henry" at the
Cherry Lane Theater down in Greenwich
Village —
"But that's almost professional! — Can I
work there too? — Then I won't go back to
school either — "
The letter, announcing their ewe lamb's
decision, brought her parents tearing East.
Dad didn't like the sound of Greenwich
Village. Nor was he reassured by the
sight of it. His daughter coming down
there alone! Going home alone at night!
"But I'm not going home alone," said
Jennifer softly.
So they met Bob and — well, you don't
have to spell the words out for Mother and
Dad. When a girl's in love, you've got to
call her grown-up, even though she still
seems a baby to her father. Seeing them
off for Tulsa, Jennifer's heart yearned over
them like a mother's. "They're resigned,
poor darlings — "
When the telegram came, she wasn't so
sure —
"Radio station wants you to star in series
of dramatic broadcasts. Forty a week.
Bring along any actor you like to play
opposite. Dad."
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Cute, but transparent. Especially the
part about bringing an actor along. Jenni-
fer strongly suspected that Mr. and Mrs.
Phil Isley would be footing the salary.
As an actress of integrity, she really ought
to spurn the offer. Before spurning it,
she talked it over with Bob. They decided
it might be fun. So-o: They went to Tulsa,
saved their money, were married the fol-
lowing January and departed for Holly-
wood to seek their fortune — this time
strictly on their own.
Hollywood viewed them with a lackluster
eye. They did get a few auditions. Bob
wanted them to showcase their talents in
"Our Town." Jennifer, convinced she was
no ingenue, insisted on Ibsen and, since
they'd been married only a couple of
months, her word was law. Looking very
young and stringy, they offered scenes
from "Ghosts," and the agents thought,
"Who are these characters?" So the char-
actors took themselves back to New York.
Robert was born, and a year later —
Michael. It was the only non-working
period of her life that Jennifer didn't re-
gard as a waste of time. Then, as Jennifer
prepared to return to work, an obsession
hit her.
The obsession was, that she'd been born
to play "Claudia". Dorothy McGuire was
wonderful, but she could do it, too. David
O. Selznick had bought the screen rights.
Without being aware of it, he was prob-
ably just waiting for Jennifer to come
along. She had a Rendezvous with Fate.
MARCH ISSUE
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Fate's intermediary was Katherine
Brown, Mr. Selznick's representative. In
New York that summer, they were wear-
ing what amounted to a uniform — black
dress, big black hat, black shoes and stock-
ings, black gloves and a string of pearls.
Thus arrayed, Jennifer kept an interview
appointment. She told Miss Brown how
she felt about "Claudia". She wasn't cocky
about it, just terribly, terribly earnest —
claudia in soapsuds . . .
"If you're as good as all that — " said
Miss Brown, and handed her a scene.
Jennifer was taken by surprise. She
made a horrible hash of the scene. She
knew it even before Miss Brown said
gently, "You know — that was not good — "
If she hadn't been so sweet about it,
Jennifer might have escaped with dignity.
As it was, she burst into bitter tears —
"Never mind," said Miss Brown. "Come
back tomorrow and see Mr. Selznick."
Bob was working, and she had to find
comfort somewhere, so she fled to Mother's
— Mother'd taken a place nearby on Long
Island that summer.
"I'm not going back," wept Jennifer.
"Why not, if she asked you to?"
"She was just being nice. She had to
get rid of me somehow."
"Maybe you'll change your mind by to-
morrow— "
"I'm going to make sure I won't change
my mind. I'm going to wash my hair!"
That's what she was doing when the
phone rang. "Why aren't you at the Selz-
nick office?"
Funny, how the mere question washed
everything else out. Why wasn't she there?
She must be crazy! The woebegone waif
turned into a whirlwind — same clothes as
yesterday — only she'd left the big hat and
pearls at Mother's— just as well, maybe, not
to be so done up — she'd have to blow five
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or six dollars on a cab — couldn't wait for
the train — took a towel along, and dried
her hair all the way in to town —
It was still damp when she took her place
among the other girls in Mr. Selznick's
office. She couldn't know, as he passed
through, that hers was the only face he
noted, and that one look was almost
enough. She'd been right about one thing.
She did have a rendezvous with fate,
though its name wasn't "Claudia."
All she knew was, Mr. Selznick was so
easy to talk to. Everything came pouring
out — next thing, he was talking tests and
contracts, and if the tests turned out as he
thought, she needn't worry about leaving
the family, because he'd want her to spend
the next year in New York studying, with
the studio paying the bills —
cook's out of order . . .
That's how the fairy tale started. Like all
fairy tales, it was hard to believe, and it
kept growing more and more fabulous —
"This can't be," gasped Jennifer when he
said she was to test for Bernadette. And
when she got the part. And when she
heard her name called for the Academy
Award. Such things don't happen, she told
her whirling brain. But they happened to
Jennifer.
By contrast with her exciting professional
life, her private life's quiet. That's laziness,
says she. It's so much easier to say, "Sorry,
I'm busy," than go to a lot of parties. Her
own company holds no terrors for her.
She likes to walk— takes five-mile strolls
after dinner, eating fritos and gingersnaps.
Or she'll read — against a musical back-
ground. Her natural taste runs toward the
popular, but she's exposing herself to
classical music — wants to see if her higher
nature's developing. It is — in a slow and
gradual way. She's beginning to go for
Debussy and some of Chopin —
Nothing bores her but detail. She can't
bother remembering to have the car
greased and, though her book's full of
coupons, she's always out of gas. By the
same token, she can't cook. As a bride, she
tried very hard, but all she had to show
for it were dirty dishes and plates full of
food they didn't eat. Bob was very kind
about it— he'd say to forget it, and they'd
go to the corner drugstore to eat.
In New York she loved hats. In Cali-
fornia she never wore one till Anita Colby
came into her life. Anita's in charge of
grooming and fashions for Mr. Selznick.
Now she's so Colby -conscious, she'll hardly
step into the backyard without a hat on
her head, if it's only a tarn.
She won't write letters because her
handwriting's awful— like a 5-year-old
child's. She's also like a 5-year-old child
about candy. Things she can't stand are
open closets because something might pop
out at her, and dripping faucets. About the
latter, she's developed a mild form of in-
sanity. First thing after hopping into bed,
she starts listening for the drip. Amazing
thing is, she always hears it, too!
Lin Yu-Tang thinks there's something
wrong with her. Not that she's ever met
him — just read in one of his books that
something's wrong with you if you don't
like to smoke. When the girls at school
started smoking, Jennifer didn't. She
wanted to be different. Not smoking
caused quite a lot of comment. The boys
thought it was wonderful. Obviously Lin
Yu-Tang didn't, and she has a great ad-
miration for Lin Yu-Tang, so she tried to
learn, and that was a flop, too. It made her
kind of sick, and the smoke got in her eyes,
and she looked pretty silly, holding the
cigarette way down there —
On the whole, though, she's doing all
right. For a girl who can't smoke and
never had brown eyes and practically
wasted her life till she was seventeen. . .
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9V LESS
X
LON McCALLISTER
(Continued from page 51)
mother, grandmother and grandfather.
Starting life a rich boy, son of wealthy
midwest immigrants to California, later
Lon was raised in harassed poverty when
the Great Depression wiped out his fam-
ily's fortunes. His mother and father
separated. But neither of these childhood
tragedies could dim the natural sunshine
of Lon's young spirit. He entered and
left a dozen different schools as his hard-
pressed family moved from one cheap
apartment to another, often just one jump
ahead of the sheriff. But in every school
Lon made friends — and he also made his
mark.
When his family found work out Holly-
wood way, Lon entered LeConte Junior
High, an especially movie-wise school.
Half the kids there worked in pictures,
made money as extras on the side. Eagerly,
Lon yearned for this new chance to do
his bit as a family breadwinner. Balked
at first, his always widespread activities
won a break. The Maxwell Choristers, a
boys' singing group Lon joined, were sum-
moned by M-G-M to sing in "Romeo and
Juliet." At the studio, Lon was the last
one picked of a small group to play choir
boys in the Norma Shearer Shakespearean
special. Riding home on the bus, his head
buzzed with excitement because he would
get ten dollars every day for five days.
To him it was was like fifty thousand.
That was a step on the road to his major
ambition— to let his frail mother and
elderly grandparents quit work. Another
kind of ambition — to be a star himself —
was to come later.
too little and too short . . .
From the start, there was something
about young Lon McCallister that caught
the quick eye of the best Hollywood artists.
He was small, it's true, not the type you'd
ever tag to stand out in a crowd. But keen
eyes invariably spotted something in Lon's
face, something unusual about his fresh
personality that sparked from his eyes and
radiated from his smile. And Hollywood
wise men have known since the beginning
that what makes great stars is not great
acting alone — but a personality that people
instinctively like.
Lon had just slipped under the wire for
his first job in "Romeo and Juliet"— the
last kid to be picked from the Maxwell
Choristers. But he was the first one
George Cukor chose for a close-up. Norma
Shearer, Lon's dream princess, found her
smile beaming particularly on the cherub-
faced kid in his curled wig, tights and
banded blouse. Sometimes she'd stop and
chat with him to the other choir kids' huge
envy. It was to be that way with Lon al-
ways. Stars were instinctively to seek him
out among the extras, warm up to him, be-
come friendly, for no particular reason —
like Anne Shirley when she made "Stella
Dallas," and Lon was a lowly super. Anne
found she had the same birthday, April
seventeenth, as Lon, and they spent spare
hours on the set making plans to form a
birthday club.
It was a pure gift, this magnet that Lon
had for other talented people. It was un-
conscious, unplanned and incidentally
completely ineffective on those who weren't
simpatico by nature. Maybe the worst ex-
ample was much later on when he was
playing an extra bit as an elevator operator
in Jack Benny's picture, "The Meanest
Man in Town." Lon's colossal acting feat
in that was to say one word, "Seventeen!"
as his car supposedly reached the seven-
teenth floor. He had to say it in a nasty
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tone of voice, and it wasn't nasty enough
to suit the director. He made Lon do it
over and over again until the whole set
stirred with impatience. Finally, he or-
dered him away from the camera. "One
thing's certain, boy," he raved, "you'll
never be an actor!"
But after "Romeo and Juliet" there
was no burning Hollywood question one
way or another about whether Lon Mc-
Callister would ever make an actor. Cer-
tainly none in busy M-G-M's mind and
very little in Lon's. He took his mother to
see the premiere of "Romeo" from a fifty-
cent seat in the bleachers erected along
Peacock Alley where the big stars would
parade in. Lon craned his neck eagerly and
pointed out to his mother the ones he knew.
He finally saw the picture in a little neigh-
borhood theater for twenty cents. His
close-up went by so fast he had to sit
through three times to remember it.
But the fifty dollars he earned in "Romeo
and Juliet" was not forgotten by Bud
McCallister— far from it. He had uncov-
ered a treasure trove in Hollywood which
could let him play a man-sized part con-
tributing to the family exchequer.
His first "credit," small as it was, made
Lon McCallister officially a child actor. He.
got his picture and description printed in
Wells' Casting Book, which studio casting
offices gleaned whenever they needed un-
known youngsters, bit players, kid extras.
Lon knew what riches showered on a
kid who clicked. Jane Withers, for in-
stance, had moved from her Sunset Boule-
vard bungalow court out to an estate in
Westwood. But Jane still attended her
old church in Hollywood. That's where
Lon worshipped, too, and one of his first
"dates" was to go out to Jane's house with
some Sunday School kids one Sabbath.
He noticed how her parents beamed with
happiness at Jane's great success. Why
couldn't something like that happen to
him?
Lon registered at all the casting offices.
He had a look-in at Selznick's when "Tom
Sawyer" was casting. Lon was even prom-
ised a part supporting Tommy Kelly, but
the picture dragged out preparing so long,
that by the time it started, Lon had grown
too big to play it. The same thing, by
the way, happened to a girl in that same
picture, named Gloria DeHaven.
So Lon had to content himself with
playing kid extras. He was in most of the
early Mickey Rooney, Freddie Bartholo-
mew and Jackie Cooper pictures such as
"Lord Jeff," the "Spirit of Culver," "Babes
in Arms." He got $8 a day, as a rule, and
he worked almost every day. Pretty soon
Lon could afford to blow $25 on a tuxedo
which qualified him to make the price back
in two days at $16.50 as a "dress extra" in
kid party scenes. By the time LeConte
Junior High was over, Bud McCallister,
as casting offices knew Lon, was so busy
as a studio extra that the principal of
Hollywood High had to lay down the law.
"You'll have to give up extra work on
week days if you start school here," he
told Lon. "You won't have time for both."
Lon knew that was impossible. He looked
around for another school.
birds of a feather . . .
The Mar-Ken professional school on
Franklin and Gower Streets was a hotbed
of the Hollywood sub-deb actor group.
Lon's school mates were the Mauch Twins,
Billy and Bobby, the Dead End Kids, Mary
Lee, who was Gene Autry's leading lady
and already a star, and who was to win a
slice of Lon's puppy love. There was Ray
Sperry, Freddie Bartholomew's stand-in,
soon to become Lon's best friend. Bobby
Breen, Jackie Moran, June Carlson, Gloria
DeHaven— all were Mar-Ken kids, plus
several others too numerous to mention.
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Mar-Ken concentrated lessons into a
morning so the specialized student body
could scurry out afternoons to their sing-
ing and dancing lessons, their studio, thea-
ter and radio jobs and rehearsals. A pro-
fessional job was as important as textbooks
at Mar-Ken, and if a big break came
along, it took precedence. You could make
up high school lessons on week-ends or
afternoons between jobs. The tuition wasn't
high— $10 a month— and Lon could handle
that out of the studio jobs that piled up
on him.
paging fame . . .
Sometimes he'd have a line to say (and
that n-,eant extra mone^, $25 at least)— as
in "Yankee Doodle Dandy" where Lon
never even faced the camera but stood
on the sidelines and yelled, "Second Act
curtain going up! Curtain going up!"
Sometimes the line would really be an im-
portant bit, like the one that introduced
the star in "Gentleman Jim." There,
dressed as a bell boy, Lon led the camera
around from set to set as he strode
through the Olympic Club set crying, "Pag-
ing Mr. Corbett— Mister Jim Corbett!"
The nearest Lon ever got to a real part in
a picture was in "Joe and Ethel Turp Call
on the President" at M-G-M. He played
his first "character part," a young thief
who stole a mail bag. The studio planned
to enlarge the sequence with added scenes,
and for a while Lon thought he'd get some
notice that would boost him up to bigger
jobs. But the scene involved Walter Bren-
nan, a Sam Goldwyn star, and Sam hap-
pened to be having one of his fights with
M-G-M. He called back the star, Bren-
nan, and that ended that.
There were lots of disappointments.
Once, in particular, he was interviewed
along with fifty other young hopefuls for
the good part of Jackie Cooper's buddy in
a Deanna Durbin picture. On the stage,
a smiling, smallish man passed Lon and
playfully slapped him on the back. Lon
slapped the man right back and noticed
that everyone gasped. Turned out to be
Joe Pasternak, the picture's producer He
took it good-naturedly, though, and picked
Lon as one of the ten boys for considera-
tion. ^But in the end it was like all the
rest "Looks too young," was the official
verdict.
When these exciting moments flopped—
as they always did— Lon found he wasn't
dismayed. He didn't really care. Fifty-odd
pictures he was to play in the extra ranks
before his own break came. But in all Lon
McCallister's eight years as an extra, never
did he become bored or cynical or blase
about Hollywood. Maybe because the
studios were never his whole life— but only
a means of self-support. Lon had other
interests, just as vital and twice as real.
All the time he was acting his age at
school and in the few spare hours he had
for fun. The first day at Mar-Ken Lon
had met Ray Sperry and Betty. One be-
came his firm friend, the other the object
of his affections— shared sometimes with
Mary Lee. Ray and Lon chased down to
the beach after school when they weren't
working. They tramped up Mount Holly-
wood or behind Pasadena to Switzer's
Camp for all-day outings. Another chum
joined them often, Chuck Trowbridge
Chuck was the brother of a girl who
worked with Lon's mother at Dr. Butler's,
the Hollywood dentist's. They became a
trio, inseparable for the teen-age recreation
spots with which Southern California is
dotted. They went to the Rollerbowl on
Sunset, to the bowling alleys, horseback
riding out in the Valley. They worked out
together at gymnastics and swimming at
the "Y" and Hollywood Athletic Club. They
packed off on week-ends in somebody's
jalopy to Lake Arrowhead to sail boats or
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paddle canoes on the lake. They got each
other out of tight places, as Lon did once
when the canoe overturned at Arrowhead,
and Ray needed fishing out. And as Ray
did when Lon knocked himself out with a
shallow dive at Pop's Willow Lake, a
favorite resort of theirs in the hills be-
hind Holh'wood. (Lon was later to dupli-
cate that accident, almost exactly, in "Home
in Indiana.") Jack Sennett, a Mar-Ken
boy, was another of Lon's pals, and usually
along. Chuck and Jack are both in the
South Pacific now, hunting Japs, and Ray
is a defense worker at Lockheed. They're
still as thick as thieves, because once Lon
makes a friend he never lets him go.
hang-dog puppy love . . .
No wonder Lon was popular wherever
he went. Although plainly he was no
typical extra, the other extras and the
stars, too, found themselves liking Lon.
Once on a Henry Aldrich picture his birth-
day came around. Lon was just an extra,
member of the mob scene. But suddenly,
in the middle afternoon, the director called
a halt, and the whole gang, camera crew,
other extras, director and stars, broke into
"Happy Birthday" and pulled out a cake
and ice cream. That doesn't happen often
to a mere extra. At Mar-Ken, Lon was
voted vice-president of his class while his
girl friend, Betty, was named president.
They had an election at school, and Lon
carried off the "most popular boy" title
while Betty was named "most popular
girl."
Somehow, it seemed Lon had been thrown
with Betty from the day he started Mar-
Ken. So naturally she became his first
sweetheart. She's happily married now,
so she can laugh with Lon at his first
serious encounter with puppy love.
It happened on Betty's birthday party
which the gang decided to celebrate with a
hayride out in the San Fernando Valley.
All of Lon's gang at Mar-Ken were along,
plumped down in the soft hay, looking up
at a round, creamy California moon. The
night was warm, and the orange groves
gave out with a perfume. The build-up
was perfect. Lon found himself leaning
nearer to beautiful Betty. But he didn't
know what to do from then on. Finally he
summoned up his courage and in a waver-
ing voice, croaked, "Betty, may I kiss you
— on your birthday?"
Only Lon happened to strike one of those
twenty-minutes-after moments of dead si-
lence. Everybody on the ride heard him,
and in the roar of laughs and razzes Lon
turned scarlet. They kidded him for days
about the "romantic moment" he could
tell interviewers about when he became
a star. Becoming a star was part of the
rib, of course.
Lon liked to dance and to run around to
Hollywood's young set fun spots. He
passed through a typically hey-hey period
— wore loud Hawaiian shirts, spouted slang,
raced around in other kids' jalopies and
swilled Pepsis. Most of all he liked to
walk hand ii\ hand with his girl down;
Hollywood Boulevard, the glittery, tawdry
alley that is still romantic to Lon, and
window shop, dropping in Brown's ice
cream parlor for a hot fudge sundae or
sipping a jumbo malt at the Melody Lane.
But he had his serious side, too, always.
The bookworm habit he'd acquired as a
lonely kid stuck. Still moving around,
Lon's family landed in an apartment at
Santa Monica Boulevard and Vine Street,
right near the John C. ' Fremont Public
Library. Many a spare afternoon when
he had his choice between books and some
outing with Ray and the gang, Lon chose
the library.
Particularly he liked poetry. Lon had
composed the class poems for graduation
at Junior High, and he was to be class poet
at Mar-Ken, too. He was always to nur-
ture a secret ambition to write, one he
still has. Lon buried himself for hours
in the volumes of D. H. -Lawrence, Robert
Frost, Edna St. Vincent Millay, Archibald
MacLeish and Walt Whitman. Nor did he
neglect the spiritual side of his young life.
Grandmother Hocking taught Sunday
school wherever the family happened to
move, and Lon, growing into his own
age of reason, decided to sample all
religions. One Sunday he'd attend the
Christian Church in Hollywood, the next
the Presbyterian and the next the Blessed
Sacrament Catholic church. He joined and
soon became president of the Vacation
Bible Club, and one summer he joined
their summer camp up in the mountains.
Lon was never embarrassed, as most
kids would have been, by this strong spirit-
ual side of his life. At one time he even
considered training to be a minister or a
missionary. Nor did he see anything
inconsistent in staying a clean, wholesome
youth, and at the same time making his
living as a studio extra. Most of his pals
smoked and occasionally experimented
with alcohol, but Lon just wasn't interested.
He could laugh at a joke and have a swell
time with the girls, but he never came
near becoming a juvenile wolf. He has
never seen any reason to abandon his high
personal ideals, even though the direction
of his life's work steered a new course
during two hours he spent in a Holly-
wood Boulevard movie house.
One day Lon walked into the old Egyp-
tian Theater with some of the gang just to
see a movie. He'd heard "A Star is Born"
was good— the touching film story of a little
Hollywood extra girl. He sat in the dark
theater, in the place where once Sid Grau-
man's premieres had packed in the great
stars of another Hollywood era. He
watched Janet Gaynor in her great come-
back bring to life the realities of a
star's life in Hollywood. Breathless, Lon
watched the little extra girl marry the
great star, pass him in the struggle, try to
hold his love against his own destroying
pride. To Lon, Fredric March and Janet
Gaynor were real people. What they made
him feel by their acting, he suddenly recog-
nized as great art and a worthy goal. If he
could only do that— make people feel
something deep inside. It would be— like-
like preaching in a way.
Lon walked out of the Egyptian strange-
ly silent while the rest of the kids chat-
tered away. He strolled over to Brown's
for the usual fudge sundae, but he didn't
say much. They knew something was
wrong. "Come on, Bud, snap out of it."
Lon smiled, tried to shake off the spell
'Sorry, fellows," he said, "Gosh, that was
a swell picture!"
"Yeah. That's Academy."
"I'm going to be a star some day," Lon
suddenly blurted out fiercely. "I'm going
to do pictures that— make people feel like
I feel now. I don't care how long it takes.
I don't care what I've got to learn. That's
what I'm going to be now, I know it. An
actor. And I'm going to live at Malibu, in
a house by the ocean." He grinned hap-
pily. "Think I'm crazy, don't you?"
They laughed, "Not any crazier than
every other crazy extra," somebody said.
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"They all say that."
Lon laughed, too. But he said stubbornly,
"You'll see!" He wondered himself if
maybe he was a little touched.
Until now Lon had never exposed him-
self to much instruction in the fundamen-
tals of acting. Now he began to hang around
behind the camera crew and creep up close,
watching the stars do what they did and
listening to the director instruct them.
From now on every extra job turned out
to be a lesson in screen dramatic technique.
But Lon wasn't satisfied. He enrolled in
his spare hours with Mrs. Josephine Dillon
Gable, famous dramatic coach of Holly-
wood.
And there was an even more practical
school for voice and dramatic reading — one
that paid off in checks, right up the street
from Lon's apartment at Santa Monica
and Vine — the Hollywood broadcasting stu-
dios, CBS and NBC. Radio had moved
big shows from New York to Hollywood
by then; Hollywood-originated shows
crowded the air. In his browsings around
the John C. Fremont library, Lon had run
onto the published radio writings of Nor-
man Corwin, and they clicked with him.
Until then all radio had meant to him was
a portable to take to the beach and tune in
on Benny Goodman.
ridin' the waves . . .
Lon took a brief course in radio tech-
nique and acting from a Hollywood radio
school. Then he haunted the studios and
the agency offices which put on the coast-
to -coast shows. He had another reason to
push him in his job hunt. After years
of working beyond the capacity of her
frail body, Madaleine Hocking had suffered
a physical breakdown, mostly exhaustion
and nervous depletion, the doctor said —
but she mustn't work for a long time. Lon
thanked his lucky stars he was a money-
maker now. But he knew he had to make
more.
His ether debut wasn't very grand and
glorious. Lon was a grocery clerk selling
soup behind a counter in a commercial
with Bill Hay, the announcer of the
Amos 'n' Andy program. On a Lux Theater
show he was an elevator boy, just as he'd
been in pictures, shouting a floor to start
a show with Myrna Loy and William
Powell, right after Cecil B. DeMille said,
"on with the show." On the Screen Guild
Show he was a newsboy, hawking papers
while the mike faded him out. But, as he
had on the sets, Lon kept his eyes open and
his ears cocked.
As he had at the studios, Bud McCal-
lister became a popular little guy along
Radio Row. Producers liked his alert
brightness. He never made fluffs. He was
always prompt at rehearsals. His likeable
personality was to pay off when he had a
favor to ask.
That time came soon. The spring of his
seventeenth birthday, Lon graduated from
Mar-Ken. He was valedictorian of his
class, and he delivered the graduation
speech at commencement in the Beverly
Hills Hotel. Lon's subject was "Toler-
ance," a subject he believed in. That night
Lon lay awake a long time in his room with
the light on, staring at the ceiling and
thinking "What next?" He knew he wanted
a college education, and by now he felt
confident he could earn one. But why?
He didn't want to study for any profession.
You couldn't learn to be an actor at any
college. Still he knew he would never be
content to break off the academic learning,
the learning that would make him appreci-
ate the larger life he already thirsted for.
Next morning Lon talked it over with
his mother and grandmother. He told them
he wanted to go on to college, but, sen-
sibly enough, he thought he was too young
to appreciate college. He was seventeen.
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He'd lived a life bound close to Holly-
wood. What he really thought he should
do was see something of the world. If
he ever wanted to act, he must broaden
himself. "Mother," he said suddenly, "I
think I'll go to New York."
But before he left for the East, he at-
tended classes at L. A. City College and
then quit after six weeks because they
didn't teach him the things he wanted to
learn. The rest of that autumn and the next
spring he worked to finance the coming
trip. New York is the Big League, and
Lon knew it. As his own high school
graduation gift he had made a down pay-
ment on a Chevrolet— typically Lon, buy-
ing it more for the enjoyment of his
mother and grandparents than himself.
There were the payments. There were
the Radio Actor's Guild dues, too. His
mother was over her illness now but not
ready to resume her job. Things had been
slow that year both at the studios and
along Radio Row. Just the same, Lon
made his plans.
Lon's dramatic lessons paid off. Up until
that summer the highest check Lon had
received was $66 one week for a bit part
with Deanna Durbin in "That Certain
Age." Now, out of the blue, came another
bit in another Henry Aldrich picture at
the fabulous salary of $100 a week, and it
lasted seven weeks! There was a stake.
Now to find a way to earn his freight.
Lon had an idea. A simple one, it's true,
one a more experienced actor would have
scorned for its simplicity. He canvassed
all the producers of Hollywood radio shows
he'd worked in. Because they liked him,
they wrote letters recommending him as
an experienced radio actor, although at
that time Lon knew he was really just
a radio extra. He pasted these all in
an impressive book. It would be his
"open sesame" to Radio City in New
York.
But Lon had no fears. He found a friend
who was driving East to take a job. New
York was a wonderland to Lon. He saw
a show every spare night from then on,
buying standing room. And as Lon alone
knew it would, his book of letters opened
the gates of Radio City. He got a job
right away.
penny-pinching wonderland . . .
His Hollywood list of shows was impres-
sive— Lux Theater, Guild Show, Silver
Theater. Lon found himself in the Big
Time, with far better radio chances than
he'd ever had in Hollywood. On "Pursuit
of Happiness," the Campbell Playhouse and
other coast-to-coasters, he handled small
roles easily. In a few weeks Lon could
write home for his mother to come on and
join him. They took a small apartment in
Greenwich Village, on University Place,
and to Lon McCallister in his eighteenth
year, one of his greatest dreams had come
true. He was bringing happiness to his
folks who had done so much for him. The
temptation was strong to stay on and carve
a permanent place for himself in Radio
City while he sopped up the marvels of
acting on Broadway. In those months he
grew up several years in dramatic appre-
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"I can do it, too," he promised himself.
"I can be an actor as well as anybody else.
I know it."
But there were a couple of items coming
up — college and money. His trip had ex-
panded into more expense than he had
planned. The $700 stake he started with
was melting fast. There was barely enough
left to buy coach seats to Illinois and meet
Grandfather and Grandmother Hocking
and then drive back home — to Hollywood.
Lon came back home broke again — and he
must start college that fall — or he'd never
start, he knew that.
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Lon did. He tackled both the studios
and Radio Row again. He stirred up extra
calls and uncovered the best radio role
he had yet had. Bob Hope was off the
air. A summer show, "A Date With Judy,"
was set to take his place. With his Radio
City record, Lon snagged the part of Judy's
boy friend. It was worth $55 a week, and
it lasted all summer. The folks went back
to work, and Lon piled up his salary.
When school opened, he was all set. With
the extra work and occasional radio calls,
he could make it.
He entered Chapman College, a small
church- endowed school few people have
ever heard of. Mostly ministers' sons
went there, studying to be reverends or
missionaries. Lon wanted a larger life
out of his college education. He always
had a theological, philosophical turn to his
nature. Okay. He would separate acting
entirely from his curriculum. He would
try to find out what life was all about from
a spiritual view.
He would join the "divines" at Chapman.
He went straight in to see the president,
Dr. Cheverton. Lon laid his case before
him. He was an actor, a movie extra, a
radio player. He would have to keep
working to stay in college. He might have
to be absent from classes, rush from his
make-up kit to his desk. But he wanted
a sound education along with his work.
Would it be possible for him to do it at
Chapman?
Dr. Cheverton was an understanding
man. "I'll admit I'm surprised," he said.
"We've never had an actor here before.
But that's the reason I'm all the more in-
terested in you."
Lon started his college course with The
Life and Teachings of Jesus, English, Man
of the Western World (history) and Be-
ginnings of Philosophy.
At first, in Lon's words, he "felt like a
devil in a flock of angels," at Chapman.
And, conversely, he felt like an angel in a
flock of — well — not exactly angels on the
studio sets. But then, they'd long ago
tagged him "the angel extra" because of
his innocent way and youthful, cherubic
face. Now, lugging his Bible to every set,
Lon lived up to his studio nickname. He
had no time to waste, and every extra has
plenty of spare hours waiting around sets
between scene and script changes.
Lon made life -long bosom pals, as he had
at MarKen. He joined a fraternity, Phi
Alpha Chi. It had only thirteen members,
it wasn't a big national, the brothers were
all poor. So poor, in fact, that the frat
existed without dues. Alpha Chi's "fra-
ternity house" was the room Lon shared
with his best college chum, Ben Bohnhorst.
Ben was president, and Lon was secretary.
The room was at Chapman's new quarters
in Whittier, a town near Los Angeles,
where Lon became a boarding student.
The Navy had taken over the old campus
on Vermont Avenue. Because suddenly,
unbelievably, tragically, something had
happened which was to change the lives
not only of Chapman College students, but
of every young man capable of bearing
arms — Lon McCallister included.
He had been on a Catalina Island ex-
cursion boat that Sunday. Banners on the
squat, white boat announced, "In all the
world no trip like this." The scat band
tooted away with "Avalon," and the blue
channel waters parted with white foam and
startled flying fish.
Eagerly, he watched the prow head into
the dock at the storied bay of Avalon. But
the gang of Islanders who usually line the
piers to razz incoming vacationers were
strangely absent. People seemed to be
running around the pier in anything but a
lazy holiday mood. Just then a loud-
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ably in these waters. We are returning
to port immediately."
The band switched from "Avalon" to
the proud strains of "The Star Spangled
Banner." Lon and the other vacationers
came solemnly to attention. On the way
back, gray Coast Guard cutters churned the
channel anxiously. At San Pedro they
lifted the submarine net to let the excur-
sion steamer in.
home-front g.i. . . .
Lon knew what war meant to him. Even-
tually, he would be in uniform. The official
news came — "Carry on whatever you are
doing." Unless they had military training,
students were advised to remain at their
studies until the Army knew what was
what, and selective service got organized.
Lon returned to his Chapman classes. He
knew what war eventually would mean
to his generation — a fight. But there was
no way Lon could foretell that indirectly
it would also break the way, suddenly,
dramatically, to the acting opportunity he
had never dreamed of arriving for years
to come.
The Chapman students got a day off to
help the labor-shy grove owners harvest
their orange crop. Lon played hookey.
Instead of picking oranges he hurried to
Hollywood. His agent — he had one now —
had called the night before to tell him
about the picture Sol Lesser was starting
to cast. "There's a tailor-made part for
you, Lon," he said. "I've arranged an in-
terview with Lesser tomorrow. Get in
here, if you have to walk!"
For the first time in his life, Lon had a
hunch. "This is it," he told himself. Every-
thing added up. "California"— the part his
agent said was a young West Coast kid,
naive, unsophisticated, angelic, a kid who'd
never kissed a girl. That was funny. If
anybody was a California kid, it was
himself. How many times had he been
razzed about his boyish, naive looks and
manner? Didn't they call him "the angel
extra?" As for kissing a girl — Lon remem-
bered his "romantic moment" on the hay-
ride. He never had kissed Betty. Lon
guessed he about filled the bill.
So did Producer Sol Lesser and the
director who walked in during the inter-
view, observed Lon silently and strolled
out. After Lon left, Frank Borzage was
to come back and say, "That boy has a
rare personality. He could be a star. I'd
like to do Dick Barthelmess' old hit, 'Tol-
able David,'' with him."
Lon didn't know about that, of course.
All he knew was what they told him.
"You certainly have the looks for 'Cali-
fornia.' But we'll have to test you. We'll
call you." Then they added the line Lon
had heard, oh a hundred times before in
his young life. "Don't you call us!"
He wasn't cynical about that. Now, par-
ticularly, when Lon felt the way he did,
there wasn't room for any feeling but confi-
dence. He took the script home and read
it to his mother and Grandmother Hocking.
He took it on over to Whittier and tried it
out on his roommates. They caught his
enthusiasm. It became a kind of Phi Alpha
Chi crusade.
At fraternity meeting the phone rang. It
was Lon's mother. "You have a test this
Friday," she told him. A test! In all his
six years as an extra, in all the fifty-odd
movies he'd made, Lon had never actually
come to the point of an actual camera
test. You can't call a guy an extra when
they test him for leading parts. He's an
actor then, any way you look at it, Lon
exulted. Friday was four days off. That
same night Lon caught the worst cold
he'd had since a case of childhood pneu-
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He was in bed all four days. He crawled
out just in time to make the studio for his
test at two o'clock. He sat around all
afternoon coughing and sneezing. He was
the last boy tested for the part, late that
evening. Fate was certainly saying "I dare
you!" The test, when it came, was over,
it seemed, in a minute. Just one take.
"We'll call you." Lon went back home
and to bed over the week-end. Monday he
went back to school. He had to study his
philosophy hard to keep down the jitters.
He'd never been excited like this before.
The suspense lasted ten long days.
bud, you're it . . .
Lon was in study hall when the tele-
phone rang that evening. He knew who
it was. "Hello," he said, "Mother?"
"Bud," greeted his mother in a strange
voice, strange because it was choked with
tears, and Madaleine McCallister never
cried. Lon's heart dropped.
"Mother," he said, "you're crying. Don't
worry, it's not that bad."
"I'm not crying because things are bad,"
she said. "It's— it's— Bud— you're going to
be 'California'!"
After he hung up the receiver, Lon made
his room in nothing flat. At the door he
stopped and tried to stroll in casually. His
buddies, Ben and Jimmy and Bill, were
boning over the desk and sprawled out in
chairs. "Break it up," grinned Lon in a
voice he tried to make calm. "Let's go
down to the Spinning Wheel for a soda."
They yawned. "Okay." The trio lined up
at a table at Chapman's favorite hangout.
The sodas came, and Lon reached for the
check. Eyebrows raised. Things were al-
ways strictly Dutch. "It's on me tonight,
fellows," grinned Lon.
"You got the part!
"Yes!"
They jumped up and pounded him on
the back until he yelled for mercy. The
great day for Lon and Phi Alpha Chi had
arrived. Lon had a hard time pulling him-
self away from his pals that night, but he
had to get home. He had to be with his
folks. In Hedda Hopper's column he read,
"Who says Cinderella days are gone in
Hollywood? Bud McCallister, grandson
of a studio gateman, has won the part of
'California' in 'Stage Door Canteen.'^ He'll
do a scene with Katharine Cornell."
The great days of the Angel Extra began.
They reeled off like an exciting movie.
Rehearsals, fittings, make-up tests, a new
girl, Marjorie Riordan, for Lon to fall for
as he did every girl he ever played with.
A trip back to New York to shoot the pic-
ture, hansom cab rides with Marjorie
through Central Park and dances at Rose-
land. Meeting in person the great stars
he'd peered at from the third balcony-
Lynn Fontanne and Alfred Lunt, Kath-
arine Hepburn, Helen Hayes. Playing a
scene from Shakespeare with the greatest
actress of them all, Katharine Cornell, in
the first movie she had ever made!
Lon piled up a million memories. Strange
the ways of fate, he marveled, that a
Hollywood extra should hear a great
actress whisper, "I'm nervous!" to him
when she faced the camera. Oddly enough,
Lon wasn't.
At the end of the first big scene of his
life, when the extras were watching him
instead of the other way around, Miss
Cornell was to hand Lon an orange. "I'll
keep it forever," he blurted impulsively.
Then he began to cry, and he couldn't stop.
Applause burst from all around him on
the set— they were applauding him, too, the
big Broadway stars who had gathered to
watch a Cornell movie debut.
Naturally, Katharine Cornell is Lon's
favorite actress. True to form, he fell for
her. She invited him to her home on
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Beekman Place, told him about her career
and listened to his. She sent him tickets
to her play, "Three Sisters," and Lon took
Marjorie, going around back to Cornell's
dressing room afterwards to send the note
in, "Romeo is here," and getting one back
"Juliet Awaits!" Lon lived in a dream
making "Stage Door Canteen."
But the dream didn't go to his head.
In fact, back in Hollywood he went through
all the early-day agonies of a first pic-
ture part. He'd had to stop his studies
at Chapman to take the New York trip.
Now he sat around fretting.
In fact, the worst blow of all was the
preview. It was a sneak and none of the
actors were invited. Lon stood on tiptoe in
the rear with Marjorie and peered around
shoulders and necks. He missed half the
picture, but what he saw dismayed him.
The print was bad, the audience was
mostly high school kids, and they were
noisy and rude. Lon and Marjorie didn't
say much on the way home. But when
Lon sat with his mother at the opening
in New York's Capitol theater and watched
the finished picture unreel, he saw a hit —
no doubt about it.
What happened, of course, is Hollywood
history. From the start, "Stage Door Can-
teen" was all and more than its producers
and galaxy of stars had hoped for it. Soon
the coffers of the USO swelled from
ayalanching profits. But on the person-
ality side, there was just one item of im-
portant news. The actor who had stolen
the picture from the greatest collection of
great actors ever assembled in one movie
was an extra boy who had never had a part
before! Lon McCallister.
Ard so, one morning, in a house on
MaL ju beach, the same boy sat up in bed
and smiled to himself the same shy smile
that had made him famous. He couldn't
sleep. He was too happy. He tiptoed into
the front room, bare of furniture, and piled
driftwood in the big fireplace
A very great deal had happened to Lon
McCallister in a very short time. He had
a contract to star at two studios. He had a
bonus in trust at the bank— enough to
take care of his folks when he joined the
Army. He had his first starring picture,
"Home in Indiana," all finished and in the
cutting room, and he knew it was right.
And, naturally, he had a new leading lady
to fall for, an especially sweet and pretty
one, Jeanne Crain. He had a score of new
and good friends, Bill Eythe, Van Johnson,
Nancy Walker, Marjorie Riordan, Gene and
Betsy Kelly— and he still had his old ones,
too. He had his induction orders. He felt
that whatever he became — a four-star gen-
eral or "dean of the latrine"— everything
was going to be all right. He had the people
he loved, his mother and grandmother and
grandfather Hocking, living with him in
the new house he'd found and bought, just
as he'd dreamed he would.
Lon thought of all these things until the
wet nose of his big Dane, "Mac," nuzzled
his cheek and brought him to. Then he
touched a match to the firewood and
watched the flames Leap high.
Lon heard a soft step and looked up. It
was his mother. A door creaked. Grand-
mother Hocking and Grandfather, too,
came out. Granny made some coffee, and
they all sat beside the fire while the sun
rose out of the Pacific, bringing with it a
new day, packed with hopes and promises.
Promises that Lon knew now could and
very often do come true, impossible as they
sometimes seem. He was twenty. A lot had
happened, but a lot more was coming up
with every dawn like this. After all, a
man's life is just starting when he's twenty.
Lon smiled around the firelit circle of
faces he knew and loved so well. They
smiled back. Nobody said much. They
didn't have to. It was all pretty perfect.
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"DER BINGLE"
(Continued from page 41)
126
OWN A CANARY — THE ONLY PET THAT SINGS
ooh-la-la, "I am de chanteuse de Ameri-
can" routine, Bing was the only one in
his troupe who could speak French at
all. He admits he'd had just a year or
so in school, and that sometimes he would
get stuck and have to "keep punching
around until I got it. You'd be surprised,
though, how quick it all comes back to
you," he says, "when you want that egg."
On top of the stack of mail on his desk
was a letter from a rnilling company in
Indiana saying they'd heard his broadcast
about General Eisenhower wanting hominy
grits and were forthwith sending the
General some.
Bing pulled a little slip of paper out of
his pocket and proudly showed it to us.
On it was General Eisenhower's autograph,
"Dwight Eisenhower ... To remind you
of hominy grits." Bing grinned and said
he guessed the General would be walking
around up to his four stars in hominy
grits ere now.
Then he began tossing off notes to the
G.I.'s. One to a likewise hoss-crazy cap-
tain from New York and his gang of gallant
guys at the front who'd wanted Bing to
find out whether or not Discovery had
ever beaten Cavalcade in a race. They'd
had a big argument about it over there
one day when Bing was there. Nobody
knew. Then they'd had to push on before
they could settle it.
So to number 0399746 went Bing's an-
swer that he'd checked with sports scribes
here, and that Discovery had beaten Caval-
cade at Belmont in 1935, when Cavalcade
unseated the rider at the start. "Hope
this doesn't cost you too much dough."
One of the letters from a G.I. to Bing
quit in mid-air— "We've just received a
rush call. Sorry to close ; so abruptly,
Bing, but you understand — "
Yeah. He understands. Guys like that
one are the reason you get nothing but
an amazed look from Der Bingle when
you speak of his own job over there. But
if Bing is forever pooh-poohing his own
sweetness and lighting, he's generous in
praise of others in his troupe. Pretty
Jeannie Darrell, brunette singer, formerly
one of the Music Maids on his own Kraft
show; curvaceous, blonde Darlene Garner,
dancer and singer; droll-faced, chubby
comedian Joe De Rita; and the musicians;
Earl Baxter and Buck Harris.
Their ten weeks U.S.O. tour, arranged
by the Hollywood Victory Committee, took
them to England and clear across France,
mostly trying to keep up with General Pat-
ton's Third Army during their drive to-
ward Metz.
Bing makes his part of the trip sound
as casual as though it's just another clam-
bake of the fish and chowder circuit. But
this singing half of the Rover Boys in
the Paramount "Road" pictures got into
many a situation he couldn't "patty -cake^'
his way out of on the "Road to Metz."
It takes Jeannie and Darlene to really
tell about them. "But you couldn't get
down or scared at all," they say. "Bing
just wouldn't let us. He ad-libbed us
clear across France."
Going over on the troop transport, they
did three shows a day in the mess hall,
and GJ.'s aboard were constantly sur-
prised to suddenly look up on deck and
see the Old Groaner standing there be-
side them, calmly puffing away at his
pipe.
As one boy, a private from South Caro-
lina, wrote home to his mother later,
"Gee, Mom, Bing's such a regular guy.
He was just like another G.I. to the rest
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of us. And one morning at early mass,
he came in and knelt beside me. Bing's
always been a favorite with me, and it
was surely a big thrill to be kneeling be-
side him."
Bing got a thrill himself when he ar-
rived in Scotland. This despite the fact
that he's been "libeled" over there by Bob
Hope who'd told them Crosby was a "short
fat little fellow."
When they got to the station the women
Red Caps in khaki slacks, skirts and little
billed hats, dropped the luggage they were
carrying, let baggage carts go A.W.O.L.
and made a dive for Bing.
They surrounded him on the station
platform and soon had him joining in
with them on a Scotch song ... "I
belong to Glasgow ... old Glasgow town,
I belong to Glasgow— When I get a couple
in me . . . Glasgow belongs to me . . ."
And Glasgow did indeed belong to Bing.
"Aye, aye . . wonderful people. Bonnie
lassies. They gave me a wee sprig o'
heather for me hattie," he burrs at you.
They knew him in England, too. Really
jamming the Queensbury All-Services
Club when Bing appeared on the Armed
Forces program there. One London paper,
commenting next day, said that Bing had
done more for international friendship
than anything that had ever happened.
"More than a hundred speeches," it said.
(Which Bing would tell you is really
stretching it a spell.)
When he got up before the mike for one
of those "hundred speeches," they pre-
sented him with a pipe by way of wel-
come. And roared when Der Bingle, all
dead pan, picked it up calmly and said,
"Well . . . isn't that nice? What is it?"
After the show, Bing went to Kutner's
Restaurant in Soho, and before he knew
it, some 2000 Britishers were gathered in
the blacked-out street below the res-
taurant, chanting, "We want Bing . . .
we want Bing ..."
It was dangerous for them to be there.
A perfect target for the Krauts. So Bing
went out on the balcony and said, "If
I sing a song, will you go home?" "Yes,"
they yelled.
"So," he says, "I sang one and they
WENT. Hey, maybe that's a bad sign!"
And talking of bad signs: They were still
sweeping up smashed glass from a building
just behind the Mayfair Hotel where
Jeannie and Darlene were to bunk, when
the girls checked in.
"Don't worry, kids. Nothing'll happen,"
said Bing, when he said good night and
ambled off to his ov/n quarters at Claridges.
Around seven a.m. both girls jumped
straight up in bed as they heard a robot
bomb explode not too far away.
"Hey, did you hear that, Jeannie?"
quaked Darlene, diving under her bed.
"Yeah," whispered Jean.
They didn't know what they were whis-
pering about. Everything else was mighty
loud.
The all-clear sounded. Almost imme-
diately, the alert started shrilling away.
About eight of them near, and as they re-
port, "all in different keys."
Down they went under the beds again.
Listening to the bomb, hearing it cut off,
then the glide, the long swish, as it cut
through the air. Then the explosion.
Soon the phone rang, and they picked it
up to hear Bing's calm drawl, "Are vou
kids okay?"
"Yes-s-s," they answered shakily. "How
are you?"
"Couldn't be better," said Bing. "Well
. . . that's all. I just thought you might
be a little worried." As casually as though
it was all just target practice on a dart
board back home.
In France they felt they were the dart
board, playing, as they were, near enough
to the front to get a noisy razzberry from
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the Jerries who, it seems, didn't like the
show.
One day they were giving a show outside
Nancy when two German scout planes
came over.
As they circled closer, Bing looked up
anxiously, then sighed, "Oh-h-h," he mur-
mured, "I thought it was the stork again!"
On another occasion when the Jerries
came uninvited to the show, Bing and the
gang were parked in a convoy of jeeps and
recon trucks ready to' go winding up a
hill to do a show. The Colonel of the
outfit had come out to meet them, and
they'd just gotten under way when they
heard the familiar drone of a plane.
"That's a Jerry!" yelled the CO. "Spread
out, everybody. Get these cars apart!"
The jeeps and recons fairly flew apart,
and everybody got under them but fast.
The plane continued on its way.
Cracked Bing as he crawled back on
top of the truck again, "That Sinatra'll go
anywhere!"
There was one German plane that flew
over the bombed village of Commercy at
ten o'clock every night. Flew so regularly
that they called it "Bed Check Charlie."
Just Jerry coming over to be sure they
were all tucked in for the night. He came
over the first night Bing and the bunch
landed there, and when the ninety milli-
meter ack-ack guns opened up all around
the hotels, they weren't sure just how long
they'd stay "tucked" anywhere.
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They were supposed to learn the pass-
word when they left in the morning, as it
was usually blacked out pitch black when
they came back in.. They were simple
little ditties like "Harvard" and you were
supposed to say "Yale" or "Black, and
you'd say "Berry."
On one occasion when Bing nacm t
learned the password, they wouldn't let
him go on.
"Hey, fellows, don't you know me.' lm
Crosby," Bing bellowed.
The bayonets didn't budge.
Then the lieutenant with him said to
a guard, "Hey Mike, you know ME. Ill
vouch for him, boys."
Bing learned every signal from then on.
An even funnier experience occurred
during the "mind reading act" in one of
the shows they gave near Metz. During
this act Joe DeRita, the comedian, would
go sit among the G.I.'s and heckle Bing,
while Crosby gave forth with an elaborate
lecture on the science of the mind.
"I can read your mind," said Bing.
"Tell your past . . . your present . . . your
future. Please feel free to call upon me,
fellows, if there's anything you want to
know. ANYTHING."
"You know all about the past, present
and future, eh?" heckled Joe.
"Dat I do, boy. Dat I do," blackfaced
Bing. . , i T
"What a phony, this guy, smirked Joe.
"Anything to make a franc."
"Go ahead, brother, and try me, in-
sisted Bing. "I know ..."
About that time the truck began to rock,
and the whole ground around them shook
as some 240 millimeter guns opened up
a barrage over them. Then a blast as the
Germans tossed a shell right back.
"Brother— I'll bet you didn't know about
that!" shrieked Joe.
But if dodging Jerry was nerve-wrack-
ing, the laughs they always got from the
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boys as they drove up more than made
up for it. The roars the G.I.'s had at just
the sight of Bing with his fatigue hat turned
up, hands in pockets of his field jacket,
puffing away on his pipe, climbing out of
the jeep as casually as though he'd just
gotten a lift to Hollywood and Vine.
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stars all over it. The G.I.'s fairly whooped.
They always asked him about Frank
Sinatra, and Bing would tell them what a
really good guy Frank is, but he kidded
about him a lot on the show.
He'd say to Jeannie, "Say, Jeannie,
how'd you like to sing a duet with Sin-
atra's father?"
"You're not kidding," said Jean. "I
have only the highest esteem and admira-
tion for him. A singer like Sinatra only
comes once in a lifetime!"
"Yeah," mourned Bing, "but why did he
have to come along in MY lifetime?"
He always sang "San Fernando Valley "
"Sweet Leilani," "Easter Parade," and tried
to duck "White Christmas," but they al-
ways yelled for it and it soon was first
on their Hit (or Miss) Parade.
His little speech at the end of the show
always came a little hard for Der Bingle.
It seemed so insufficient, somehow. There
was no way you COULD say it. And
he felt it so very, very much. You go
mighty deep to find the real Crosby
Deeply religious . . . kind . . . compas-
sionate . . . and humble.
As they wound up every show he'd
grab a deep breath and take off, "You
know, fellows, it's really something for a
ham actor like myself to come . out here
and have you applaud me, when I'm the
one who applauds you. Not just me— but
everybody at home applauds you and
what you're doing. A great job. We're
so very proud of you all, and our only
prayer is that we'll be getting this thing
over and you'll all be coming home. . . ."
Then his voice would go a little offpitch
with feeling, and he'd close in fast with
Swingin' On a Star," to leave them feel-
ing as happy as possible.
He would have loved to have had a star
to swing on himself when he invaded the
country of the Krauts. It happened one
Sunday when they'd finished doing a
show in the pouring rain not far from
the front lines near Metz. They had mass
after the show before an altar set up on
two trucks pushed together, the priest
wearing a German parachute to help
keep off the rain. And Bing and the G.I.'s
kneeling below the truck in the mud.
Right after mass he was to meet the
others about a mile on down the pasture
for the next show. So what should hap-
pen but that he and the lieutenant who
was driving the jeep, got lost and made
their sashay into the limits of a town the
Germans were still holding! Bing clamped
his helmet on, scrouged down into the
jeep, making himself as small as possible,
and they got the heck out. Arriving back
at the show Bing had the boys howling
telling them that it wasn't that he was
scared exactly — But . . . well ... he
came over to entertain Americans — not
Germans. The rest of his own gang
kept kidding about trying to get a Purple
Heart and win the war all by himself.
They kept asking him, "How is it in
Munich?" or "Hey, Bing, how many bows
did ya' take in Berlin?"
One day he went to one of the "Hope-
less" tents in a field hospital all by him-
self. Most of the kids were head casual-
ties. He came back to the truck some
hours later, climbed up, flashed his blue
and yellow tie and went on with the gags
That night he told the gang, "You know,
I didn't even remember doing that show.
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Did I do okay?" .
Funny how surprised the G.I. s would
look when they glanced up from their
chow lines early in the morning and spied
Der Bingle, standing there calmly holding
his own mess kit. How they'd rub their
eyes sleepily, look again, and yell, "It's
Bing! Hi, ya, Bing! Oh, me bloody
back, me achin' back!" He was almost
the first one up in any camp. About six
a.m. or so, you'd see him wandering along
the road or pasture looking the situation
over. He slept in a bed roll, usually in a
tent, in mud. And shaved by means of a
little German heater on which he would
heat a canteen cup of water.
He did his own laundry, socks, hand-
kerchiefs, etc., in a helmet in his tent
at night. Usually a pretty dim tent. Or
blacked-out quarters. Although he dressed
in G.I. togs, he had his luxuries— the two
wild ties with the moons and stars on
them and some really killer-diller socks.
Like the rest of the G.I.'s, Bing usually
gave the chocolate in his rations to French
kids. "They're so sweet," Bing says.
"So grateful for any affection. They just
take hold of your hands and want to go
with you wherever you go."
Bing carries a little snapshot around
that means an awful lot to him. A pic-
ture of a family of six French boys.
They're the grandsons of Felix Moreau,
colorful Mayor of Vezelise, at whose home
Bing and the gang stayed a few days.
Bing will never forget the night he
walked into that old French home. He
was a little homesick then and missing
his own brood a lot. So when he walked
into the living room later and saw the six
boys scrubbed so clean and waiting po-
litely to meet him, Bing felt right at
home. They were, Bertrand, 13; Xavier,
10; Claude, 8; Christian, 6; Dominique, 4;
and Ives, aged 2. It was a case of a
mutual-admiration society, and from the
first you could always see Der Bingle in
the early morning and evenings wander-
ing around the courtyard with all six
kids hanging onto him for dear life.
The Mayor's daughter, who'd been to
Paris now and then, was the only one who
could speak English. But they really
swapped languages around before Bing
left. They had his bunch speaking a
smattering of French, and he had the kids
reeling off American jive.
One night after dinner, the gang went
into Mayor Moreau's study and put on
a show for the family. And the Mayor,
who boasted that no Germans had ever
crossed the threshold, dug out some very
fine liqueurs he'd been saving.
Bing sang nearly everything he knew
Then by way of a finale, Bing and Jeannie
and Darlene did a jive from "Here Come
the Waves," that they'd rehearsed while
jolting along in trucks and jeeps. It was
Johnny Mercer's "You Gotta Accentuate
the Positive . . . Eliminate the negative
. . Don't mess around with Mr. In-
Between. ..."
It was his meeting later on with
Eisenhower near Paris that took the
military cake. Bing was staying at the
Ritz Hotel and answered the door one
day to a G.I. who told him that General
Eisenhower wanted to welcome him per-
sonally. , _ .
Bing, who knew how busy the General
was and figured he was just being polite,
told the soldier to thank the general for
him and tell him he hoped they'd have
an opportunity to meet some day.
The next day the same G.I. was back
at the door saying, "Look, Mr. Crosby,
you've just gotta come. It's an ORDER!"
The General was wonderful to him and
offered him the use of his own car and
driver. He'll never forget the amazed
G.I.'s in Paree who stood at attention
whenever they saw the General's car ap-
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proach, only to spy Bing climbing out of it.
Oh, me achin' back!" they'd roar.
And talking about the streets of Paris,
Crosby got a big bang out of seeing French
women who'd ride on bicycles and wear
wooden shoes "with no stockings and a
h of a fancy hat with a settin' hen
or something on top of it."
But settin' hens or not, Jeanne and Dar-
lene wanted a chance to snap up some of
the sharp French chic and since they
couldn't speak French, Bing had promised
he'd go on a shopping trip with them and
interpret. Both the girls wanted some of
the quaint wooden wedgies with the high
spike heels.
Bing explained to the woman that Jean
wanted some red wooden shoes. "Tres
petits and tres rouges." (Jean wears a 3.)
But the saleslady wasn't to be dealt
with that easily. She insisted on making
a production of it, starting at the largest
thing they had.
After about five trips she came out with
some small and red enough. Bing sighed
and started getting ready for Darlene's
blue ones. "Okay, Bubbles . . . let's have
with yours."
Yes, they had theirs, all right, and then,
almost without warning, it was all over.
The tour was over and they were head-
ing home. Some of the war came home
with them, though. In the shape of
men without shape, men without arms and
without legs, hundreds of boys who'd been
in France and done their jobs. As they
inched nearer and nearer land, the idea
spread and took hold, having the kids
who couldn't walk brought up on deck;
and so slowly, in a never-ending stream
of wheel chairs and stretchers and some-
times on strong backs, the kids got up-
deck. And then, maybe because they'd
been praying for this moment for so
long, when they saw it, it didn't seem
quite real. Home. The U. S. A. The
practice parachute jumping tower in
Brooklyn! Strangely, there were no gags,
no roughhousing. Just a sea of set faces
with the masks men wear when their
hearts are overfull. The silence was so
big it seemed to swallow even the sounds
of the heavy, uneven breathing and the
scraping of wheel chairs. It swallowed
everything but the faint, far-away lap
of water slapping against the side of the
ship and the thin, high wail of the kid
propped up against the rail. "Jeez, jeez,
jeez, fellas, we're home! Je-e-e-ez. . . ."
Over and over again. And then suddenly,
hell broke loose. Cheering and whistling
and back-slapping, the sounds of men
coming back to life. And off lounging over
a rail, Bing waited. Sucking at his pipe,
blinking a little, his eyes riveted far out,
his crazy blue and yellow tie whipping
in the breeze, listening to the skinny kid
softly talking to himself, "Jeez, jeez, jeez,
we're home — swe-e-e-1 . . ."
Swell, too, to Bing to be back in Bel-
Air with his wife, Dixie, and the boys.
"Did you see any GERMANS?" said
Gary.
"Any LIVE ones?" came from Philip.
Then Bing started fishing out all the
stuff he'd brought. Souvenirs the boys
had given him. All kinds of epaulets . . .
German insignia . . . pieces of planes . . .
stuff that's solid gold to junior G.I.'s.
And a life that was once so simple has
grown mighty complicated. Once it just
meant mostly croonin' a little, golfin' a
little, actin' a little. Or maybe looking
in on his own production, "The Great
John L." But no more. Not with all that
overseas loot. The word has gotten around
somehow. He's a big man.
And every evening now finds him men-
tally mapping some new line of strategy
that will get him home without facing the
Bel-Air barrage.
"Oh, me achin' back!" says Bing.
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plus few cents postage, for BOTH books.
Mr
Mrs
M
u
iss J
(Please print plainly)
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pation age please
HANDSOME DE LUXE BINDING: Check box if
_, vou wish your masterpieces (one each month) in
imulated leather, silver stamped, for only 50c extra
monthly. We will then send you, in this same bind-
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61
RL: Cupid dear... isn't that a sort of silly question?
CUPID: Silly? Listen, Child: My business is Romance.
And the way you let those boys skate off
without you . . . well, it isn't so good for business.
GIRL: Let them skate off? How could I
stop them? I'm no glamour girl!
CUPID: You could have tried smiling at them!
Even a plain girl can be pretty when she smiles.
GIRL: Not this plain girl, Cupid. My teeth-honest,
I'm a one-woman dimout. I brush my teeth every—
CUPID: Ever see "pink" on your tooth brush?
GIRL: Well, yes, but...
C^3
GIRL: But we were talking about my smile! Not my—
CUPID: Listen, Child . . .Ipana Tooth Paste and massage
were born to help your smile! Massaging a little
extra Ipana on your gums when you brush your teeth
helps your gums to healthier, ruddier firmness.
And healthier gums mean sounder teeth, a brighter
smile . . . and somebody to hold your hat while you skate!
Get started on a brighter smile today, Baby!
CUPID: ...you ignore it! By the Everlasting
Double-Ring Ceremony, Child! Don't you know that tinge
of "pink" is a warning to see your dentist right away?
GIRL: But-
CUPID: . . .because he may say your gums have gotten
tender, robbed of exercise by soft, modern foods. And he
may suggest "the helpful stimulation of Ipana and massage.'
Qp^l^^^^ IPANA
Product oj Bristol-Myers
and MASSAGE
By Jean Kinkead
If you want to make 1945
V-year, here's what you can do to carry
your share of Victory!
■ So you think soldiers win a war? Sure, soldiers,
sailors, marines and civilians behind them at home.
That's you. Without you, there wouldn't be any am-
munition, any morale . . . any victory. To make 1945
V-year, you'll have to give with everything in your
power. You've got to make one big, fat resolution
that will touch everything you do, and this is it:
"This year I resolve to reach for the moon." Resolve
to pull down a couple of A's instead of straight C's;
to look your best all the time, instead of just on
special occasions; to snag a beau who's top-notch,
instead of just any sad sack.
You know, whether you're a pretty smooth some-
body or simply a slow drizzle depends exclusively
on how high you've been reaching for beauty,
brains, chic. If you've been reaching way up there,
your hair is bright, your lessons are done, your
sweater's whistle-clean, and you're on top of the
world. If you haven't been, don't cry in your Pepsi
about it. Get busy, and here's how.
Beauty-wise: We won't go into specific beauty
stuff, because our beauty (Continued on page 10)
DOROTHY McGUIRE as Katie * JOAN BLONDE .Mr JAMES DUIasJoiw
LLOYD NOLANasMcShane-PEG^ANN GARNER asfencie-lD DONAtDSONasKeel^
and JAMES GLEASON - RUTH NELSON . JOHN ALEXANDER . B. S. PULLY • Directed by ELIA KAZAN • Produced by LOUIS 0. LIRHTON
Screen Play by Tess Slesinger and Frank Davis • Adapted from the Novel by Betty Smith
word — a new word— she's varvacious,
with Varva's exciting perfumes
"Follow Me" and "Nonchalant."
They've made her very very . . .
Varva extracts— $1 to $15 • Bath Powder, $1
Face Powder, 6 guest puffs, $1 • Bubble Foam, $1
Sachet, $1 and $1.75 • Talc, 55c
(plus tax)
Empire State Building, New York 1, N. Y.
CO-ED
(Continued from page 6)
charts do exactly that, and they're yours
just for a stamped envelope. (See page 26.)
However, we do want to goad you into
action. If you know you'd look slick with
Dutch-boy bangs or a sleek center part
or a straight-to-the-shoulder bob — okay,
so be it. If you think a blue-red lipstick is
your ticket, a deeper powder the answer
to your sallow puss, well go blow yourself
to same and see. Reach, kids. Don't just
sit around and hate your face and get an
inferiority complex.
S'posing your complexion is really a
problem, but you don't think you can afford
a doctor's advice. Go and talk to the
doctor, anyway. Ask if there's a free clinic
within train or bus distance. If there isn't,
ask him if he can arrange to let you pay
him for his care gradually. Maybe your
teeth are your greatest cross, but having
them straightened is so impossible finan-
cially you don't even consider it. Get over
to the dentist and work out a deal. You'll
type for him after school and on Saturdays.
You'll answer the phone, straighten up the
office, run errands. Don't think he won't
be interested, but he's not going to make
the first move.
Brain-wise: First of all, do marks mat-
ter? If you're dreaming of college, of a
cadet nursing school, they can mean a
scholarship. If you want a career in busi-
ness, they may make the difference between
a routine job and one filled with excite-
ment and responsibility. Marks matter
ever, ever so much, so hit the books,
chums, hard and often. Maybe going to
the library right after school will be the
best system for you. Maybe having some-
one over to work with you will help. Most
important rule is this: Don't get behind in
things. Get your themes in right on the
nose, chem note-book all up to date, out-
side reading going along on schedule. Oh,
that good feeling of being all caught up!
Another thing. Don't underestimate your
tools. A good pen, a sharp pencil, a bright
light, a comfortable chair — all these are
studious making. So is time out for a Pepsi
now and then, or a listen to you-know-
who on Wednesday nights. Concentration,
tossed well with relaxation, and you've got
something. Could be an A.
About Grooming: You know all about
keeping your shoes shined and your skirts
pressed. You do mean to tub your sweaters
the second they look bleary. And gosh,
you really hate a not-quite-fresh white
blouse as much as the next person. You
want to be well-groomed, but your reach
isn't so hot. This year, kiddie, please want
to very, very, very much. Enough to make
Saturday the day you get lifts and a shine
— but faithfully, not just every third week.
Make Saturday the day you fetch and car-
ry clothes from and to the cleaners. How
about Monday nights for a little light
laundry? Or make it Tuesday. Any time
as long as you stick to it. Get yourself
some system, and you'll get yourself some
grooming.
About Men: Granted, you can't just toss
an eye at the biggest shot in town and
expect him to fall. Still you can start
paving the way for it. How? Well, from
your very first date, waste no wiles on
undesirables. Lads with unsavory repu-
tations, lads the other gals scorn, lads who
are just plain dull. These aren't for you.
Set your cap for someone who is someone,
and "being someone" in the way we mean
has nothing to do with money or social
position. He may be the shy guy who
writes the smooth editorials for the school
paper, the unattached, undiscovered hunk
Peace terms every man
sAou/a1 make /VOIV/
The war is still on . . . and will be for
some time to come.
But right now— before the war ends
—every man in America has an un-
precedented opportunity to make
terms with himself for his own peace
. , . his peace of mind.
For now, as never before, a man
should look at his wife and family and
say, "What can I offer them for the
future?"
And now, as never before, a man in
America has a chance to answer this
question— an opportunity to provide
for the future.
That opportunity is War Bonds. No
doubt you are buying War Bonds
through the Payroll Saving Plan. Ar-
range to buy more War Bonds. All you
can afford.
What's even more important— don't
cash in those War Bonds before they
mature. Stick them away in a safe
place— and forget about them till you
can reap the full harvest on them.
Now is the time to make your plans
for peace of mind. Buy War Bonds and
hold onto them!
MODERN
SCREEN
This is an official U.S. Treasury advertisement
— prepared under auspices of Treasury-
Department and War Advertising Council
of muscle on the hockey team. He may be
the kid who delivers groceries after school,
or the one with the Beiderbecke album.
Any one of the nice joes who do something,
are interested in something, are going
places. Sight him, sink him, and if or
when your little session goes poof by
mutual consent, pick up the pieces and
move on to something even fancier.
Do you understand a little better about
reaching high? And do you see how im-
portant and all-inclusive a resolution it is?
It even takes in clothes. This year,
chickens, you get 'em good. You get one
honey instead of a group of crumbs. This
year you read a significant book now and
then. A worthwhile piece of non-fiction
that will give you something to think about.
Something to talk about. You use a four-
dollar word -occasionally instead of the
hackneyed, easy nickel jobs. You spend
your leisure being a blood donor or a
Nurse's Aid. Up till now you've just
thought about it. This year it happens.
We'll be watching you little co-eds,
proudly and confidently. Start reaching
today. This very minute.
Co-Ed Question Box:
All the boys who know me think I'm
strictly okay, but I never make an im-
pression on those casual "hello" acquain-
tances. How can I make them interested
in knowing me better? D. C. F., Lansing,
Mich.
Best thing to do is to let them observe
you in action. Make up your mind which
ones you're anxious to know better, and
then pursue them quietly to their lair.
Maybe it's the chem lab after school.
Could be it's Room 303 where the literati
put out the school paper. Or is it the
dramatic club? It's up to you to discover
what they do after three o'clock, then be
there. Let them take a good long look,
enchant them with your line of patter, con-
trive to be there every day until you're
one of their crowd, and they're part of
yours. That's all there is to it.
I'm an average boy with a few girl
friends. I used to consider myself lucky to
have a date, but this year all the girls are
flocking around. All but one, that is, and
she's the one I'm crazy about. She, in
turn, loves my best friend who doesn't give
two hoots about her. The really sad part
of it is that she thinks I've told my best
friend bad things about her, and that's
why he doesn't like her. Imagine me say-
ing anything bad about her! How can I
make her like me? Bob M., Philadelphia,
Pa.
Couldn't you and your friend cook up
a double date? He'd ask the girl you like,
and you'd ask some other nice girl. In the
course of the evening the girl you like
would see what a good guy you are —
especially if you could get your best friend
to play you up a bit, cue you for bright
sayings. Bet you wouldn't have any trouble
getting her to date you after that.
This summer I went steady with a boy
from another part of the state. When he
first went back home, I received a letter or
phone call every day. Then the phone
calls stopped, and finally the letters. In the
meantime, another boy has asked me to
go steady with him, and though I like him,
I can't seem to forget the first one. I wrote
and told him that another boy had asked
me to go steady, and he answered asking
me not to. I wrote back saying I wouldn't,
and that was the end of the correspon-
dence. Should I write and ask him what's
wrong? I. D., Boston, Mass.
Gosh, no. You know, we gals have a way
of wanting to make a long-term proposi-
tion of every summer romance, and it's
not a bit smart. Of course, the boy's to
Sandra found shopping
packed j| plenty of punch.
-But HOtf)~BO$ p/ns kept her
ha/r styl/sh til/ lunch .'
• Why is a bobby pin? To hold your hair
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Look for, ask for, the hold-bob card.
Copyright >.g
1945 II, V
Gayiord
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blame a bit for not making it clear that,
come August, we've hit the end of the
line, but it's up to us to realize that. Separ-
ation, unless you are very deeply in love,
invariably terminates a romance. Forgive
us, if that sounds harsh, and file that first
boy away until next summer. Meanwhile,
have fun with the material at hand.
I'm fifteen years old and have been going
with a boy of eighteen for nearly two and
a half months. I like him ever so much,
and I thought he liked me, too. A few weeks
ago, our class — which is all girls — gave a
wiener roast, and we were to invite boys
and pay their way. I invited my guy, and
he went, but since then I've only had two
dates with him. I can't figure out the sud-
den chill, unless it could be that I paid for
his ticket to the class party. What do you
think? Marie, Toronto, Canada.
I can't imagine any sensible boy being
offended because a girl paid for his ticket
to her class party, so the reason for the
coolness must lie elsewhere. It may be
that he's afraid you're getting sort of
possessive. The minute you ask some boys
to something, they get panic-struck. Pos-
sibly he thinks he's using good tactics.
Keeping you guessing, so to speak. Per-
haps, being young and male, he's on the
fickle side and is wearying of the close
companionship. In any event, don't let him
know how anxious you are. Be your joshy,
friendly self when you meet, don't let
it get around that you consider yourself
jilted, and under no circumstances act
huffy or hurt. If anything will bring him
back, it will be this quiet, undemanding
tack, and if he is really lost, hold your
head high and go after another lad.
I am a teen-age girl who wanted to have
fun, but made the mistake of having it in
the wrong way, with the wrong people.
Now my reputation is so poor that the nice
young people don't want to have anything
to do with me, even though I'm very
anxious to behave myself. Is it wrong to
neck in the movies? How can you ask a
boy not to kiss you good-night without
making him angry? The only place in our
town for people to have any fun is a
tavern. The boys all want to go there, and
if the girls say no, they're considered com-
plete flops. What to do? G. S. Canton, III.
You can live down a bad reputation, but
it takes a little while. The best way we
know is by completely cutting yourself
off from the old crowd and by plunging
into some worthy activities with all your
energy. Red Cross, USO work, church
activities. You'll make new contacts there
with which to replace the old. And gradu-
ally, if you don't push too hard or work
too fast, you'll find yourself accepted by
the town, with all the old memories of you
completely erased from people's minds.
Now, to your questions. Some people have
always considered the back row of the
movies a sort of unofficial lovers lane, but
we don't think public love-making is ever
in very good taste. When your date tries
to kiss you good-night, and you don't want
him to, try giving him your best smile and
shake your head slowly and decisively.
Or else say, "Not tonight, Bill," leading
him to believe that maybe next time —
We guarantee he won't be angry with you;
just very, very intrigued. About where
to go in a town like yours to have some
fun. Couldn't you appeal to one of the
churches or to the school to let you have
a couple of rooms? If necessary, go to the
mayor and ask him to think up something
for you. Get the townspeople interested in
a club for the young people. A place
where you can dance and play ping pong
and have fun. Work on it, and you'll get
it— and that very activity may bring you
into contact with all the people you've been
longing to know.
AUTOGRAPHS!
You don't have to lurk in drafty hotel lobbies or
chase through deserted streets or stand on line to
get these precious autographs. Uh-huh. We do it
the easy way. All you do is send in a quarter to
help the work of the NAVAL AID AUXILIARY
FUND and in return, you get the official NAA
emblem card autographed by whatever star you
pick from the list below! And if you send in that
extra dollar you have floating around, you get an
EXTRA signature as a bonus — which makes 5
autographs for the price of 4! We sure do it the
easy way!
June Allyson
Don Ameche
Mary Anderson
Dana Andrews
Jean Arthur
Lynn Barl
Lionel Barrymore
Anne Baxter
William Bendix
Joan Bennett
Ingrid Bergman
Turhan Bey
Janet Blair
Joan Blondell
Humphrey Bogart
Charles Boyer
Eddie Bracken
Barbara Britton
Jim Brown
Eddie Cantor
Claudette Colbert
Ronald Colman
Gary Cooper
Joseph Cotten
James Craig
Jeanne Crain
Dick Crane
Bins Crosby
Xavier Cugat
Helmut Dantine
Linda Darnell
Bette Davis
Laraine Day
Gloria De Haven
Olivia de Havilland
Tommy Dix
Brian Donlevy
Tom DTake
Jimmy Durante
William Eythe
Jinx Falkenburg
Alice Faye
Errol Flynn
John Garfield
Judy Garland
Peggy Ann Garner
Greer Garson
Paulette Goddard
Betty Grable
Farley Granger
Cary Grant
Bonita Granville
Kathryn Grayson
Sidney Greenstreet
Alan Hale
Dare Harris
Signe Hasso
June Haver
Dick Haymes
Susan Hayward
Rita Hayworth
Paul Henreid
Katharine Hepburn
John Hodiak
Bob Hope
Marsha Hunt
Walter Huston
Betty Hutton
Bob Hutton
Richard Jaeckel
Harry James
Gloria Jean
Van Johnson
Jennifer Jones
Brenda Joyce
Danny Kaye
Gene Kelly
Kay Kyser
Alan Ladd
Hedy Lamarr
Dorothy Lamour
Carole Landis
Priscilla Lane
Joan Leslie
John Loder
Myrna Loy
Ida Lupino
Diana Lynn
Roddy McDowall
Lon McCallister
Dorothy McGuire
Irene Manning
Trudy Marshall
Marilyn Maxwell
Ray Milland
Carmen Miranda
Thomas Mitchell
Maria Montez
George Montgomery
Constance Moore
Dennis Morgan
George Murphy
Lloyd Nolan
Jack Oakie
Merle Oberon
Margaret O'Brien
Virginia O'Brien
Donald O'Connor
Maureen O'Hara
Dennis O'Keefe
Michael O'Shea
John Payne
Gregory Peck
Susan Peters
Walter Pidgeon
William Powell
Tyrone Power
George Raft
Ella Raines
Martha Raye
Ronald Reagan
Donna Reed
Ginger Rogers
Roy Rogers
Rosalind Russell
Ann Rutherford
Eddie Ryan
Peggy Ryan
Randolph Scott
Ann Sheridan
Dinah Shore
Phil Silvers
Ginny Simms
Frank Sinatra
Red Skelton
Alexis Smith
Ann Sothem
Barbara Stanwyck
Shirley Temple
Gene Tierney
Franchot Tone
Spencer Tracy
Sonny Tufts
Lana Turner
Robert Walker
John Wayne
Cornel Wilde
Esther Williams
Jane Withers
Monty Woolley
Teresa Wright
Jane Wyman
Loretta Young
Robert Young
I Enclosed please find 25c in □ stamps,
□ paper-wrapped coin, for an NAA card
autographed by
t I understand I am to enclose 25c for each
! additional autograph I request but that only
I $1.00 will now pay for 5 autographs.
My name is
I live at
City
State
NAA EDITOR,
9136 Sunset Blvd.,
MODERN SCREEN
Los Angeles 46, Calif.
mSBSB&S&mSM
•a
Its a
wonderfah
love stotytoof
*
and
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Jade L. Warner producer
13
MOVIE REVIEWS
(Continued from page 8)
at Acapulco. Those beauties in bathing
suits give him ideas. Hey, Donald, come
back here! Donald! Oh, well . . .—RKO.
P. S.
One of those all-too-few full length Walt
Disney pictures. But this one is entirely
different from any he's done before. It's
a combination of cartoons and real action
that is fascinating and beautiful to watch.
Disney has worked for five years to perfect
this process. It is as new and revolution-
ary as the advent of sound and color. This
process enables Senor Donald Duck to do
the Samba-Jongo with glorious Aurora
Miranda of Brazil and enables the Flying
Serape with the three Caballeros aboard
to swoop over the famous beach at Mex-
ico's Acapulco, teeming with dozens of
pretty senoritas . . . You'll love Panchito.
This is his debut in films, and we hope Mr.
Disney will bring him back many times.
Jose Carioca, the Brazilian parrot who
played in "Saludos Amigos," does his sec-
ond bit for the screen. Donald Duck is
already established in the hearts of all
Americans. Those are the three Caballeros
. . . Aurora Miranda of Brazil, Carmen
Molina and Dora Luz of Mexico — three of
Latin America's most famous musical stars
— are introduced to American audiences
in this film . . . The running time of "The
Three Caballeros" is seventy-two minutes
— at the end you'll wish it were twice sev-
enty-two . . . We'd like to bring you
more notes about the production but, as
you no doubt realize, Mr. Disney's process
for this filming is one of the biggest and
most closely guarded secrets in Hollywood!
GOD IS MY CO-PILOT
Some pilots call it luck— the thing that
brings them through on a thousand to one
chance. But after a dozen years of fly-
ing a man may come, as Colonel Robert
Scott does, to the conclusion that it's God.
The story of the years that lead up to that
conclusion is also the saga of American
aviation, and the men in it. It will make
you proud, and it may also make you cry.
Dennis Morgan plays Colonel Scott with
warmth and real sincerity. From the
time he's a boy, Scott is determined to be
a pilot. He decides that the best way to get
a permanent commission in the Air Corps
is to go to West Point. He gets there not
by a political appointment, but the hard
way — by enlisting in the regular Army and
passing a competitive examination.
He is then assigned to Randolph Field
for flight training. That's all very fine
except that his fiancee, Catherine (Andrea
King) lives thirteen hundred miles away.
Which doesn't stop Scott from seeing her —
he commutes twenty six-hundred miles on
weekends till she marries him. In 1934,
Scott is assigned to the job of flying the
mail. Those are tough years. The routes
are dangerous, the planes inadequate, and
the weather is the worst in history. But
when Scott is through, he knows more
about flying than most pilots learn in a life-
time.
The Japs attack Pearl Harbor, and Scott
wants to get in on the fighting. He's thirty-
four now, and that's too old for combat
duty, or so everyone tells him. He keeps
on asking and at last is assigned to a B-17
and sent off to the Far East. There he
manages to attach himself to the staff of
General Chennault and to the company of
the Flying Tigers.
They are a great bunch, particularly Tex
(John Ridgely) and Ed (Dane Clark).
There is a missionary priest, too, called
Big Mike (Alan Hale) , whom Scott likes a
lot. Scott becomes known as the "one
man air force," and the Japs duck for cover
when they see him coming. One day he is
flying Big Mike over to Kweiyand, and
. . . But I want you to see that flight for
yourself. It effectively demonstrates the
truth of the picture's title. — War.
P. S.
The best seller, "God Is My Co-Pilot,"
had its beginning some twenty-six years
ago when Robert Lee Scott, Jr., took his
umbrella in hand and made his first crash
landing from the roof of the family barn
. . . But Colonel Scott didn't actually get
the idea and the title for this autobiog-
raphy until some twenty-four years later
in the room of a flight surgeon in China.
The Colonel had been out for his after-
noon of Jap hunting and had collected five'
rivet heads in his right shoulder. A Jap
twenty-seven mm. cannon shell hit the
back of his armour plate and knocked the
rivet heads loose and installed them in the
flyer's hide. The Colonel had been taken
to the flight surgeon to have the metal
removed. Since there was no anesthetic,
the doctor kept talking to keep his patient? s
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mind from the pain. The doctor found it
hard to believe that one man could handle
a fighter ship alone — fire the guns, drop the
bombs, navigate, change fuel tanks and
keep the radio operating. But the surgeon
answered his own question, "No, you're not
up there alone. You have the greatest
co-pilot in the world." And there was the
idea for the book and the title . . . forty-
three sets for the picture, more than
10,000 different items — pipes, spectacles,
swords, etc. This job fell on Lee Sheldon
of the prop department. Exteriors and
aerial scenes were done at Luke Field,
Arizona . . . Colonel Scott wrote to Gen.
Claire Chennault requesting photos of the
village which had been headquarters of the
Flying Tigers. From these pictures the
Utile village was faithfully reproduced at
Warner Bros.
MUSIC FOR MILLIONS
Umbriago — that's my boy! Or, in other
words, Jimmy Durante's here again. "Music
For Millions" comes to life with a bang
every time he appears, and he steals scenes
from Jose Iturbi without half trying. "It's
Toscanini, Iturbi and Me!" according to
one of Durante's songs, and I'm only sur-
prised that he gives the other two top
billing.
He doesn't steal any scenes from June
Allyson or Margaret O'Brien, though. As
Babs Ainsworth and her baby sister,
Mike, they'll walk right into your heart.
Babs, who plays the bass viol in Iturbi's
symphony orchestra, is faced with the same
problem as lots of American girls today.
Her husband is in the South Pacific, and
she's going to have a baby. She is de-
lighted when little Mike drifts in from
Connecticut and announces that she wants
to stay with her big sister. But the situa-
tion does present difficulties. The club
where the orchestra girls live has a "no
children," rule, so they have to smuggle
Mike in and out and pop her into the
bass viol case when the landlady comes
around. Then at rehearsal Mike is apt
to interrupt one of Mr. Iturbi's most com-
plicated numbers by lugging a stool across
the platform for sister Babs to sit on.
After all, it's hard work standing there
holding that big bass viol. "And you don't
want to be sick in bed when the baby
comes," Mike tells Babs wisely.
Andrews (Jimmy Durante), the sym-
phony's manager, swears that he and
Mike are deadly enemies, but that
doesn't prevent him from seeing that she
gets her favorite kind of ice cream and
even tucking her into bed on occasion.
Babs' particular friends, Rosalind (Mar-
sha Hunt), Marie and Helen are worried
about Babs. She hasn't heard from her
husband in months, and it's getting her
down. So they dream up a scheme to fix
things, at least temporarily. It involves
Marie's disreputable uncle (Hugh Her-
bert), and he's the funniest character in
the whole picture.
The cast includes Harry Davenport,
Marie Wilson, Helen Gilbert and Larry
Adler. The music, of course, is magnifi-
cent.— M-G-M.
P. S.
The music in this is really for the mil-
lions. Under the able direction of Jose
Iturbi, the music includes Grieg's "Piano
Concerto," the Fourth Movement of Dvo-
rak's "New World Symphony," The Halle-
lujah Chorus from Handel's "Messiah," De-
bussy's "Claire de Lune" and Victor Her-
bert's "March of the Toys" . . . Blond, viva-
cious June Allyson marks a milestone in
her promising motion picture career with
this role, for it is her first straight dramatic
part. June was signed by Metro eighteen
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16 YOUTH FORM LINGERIE ,38E.30thSt.,N.Y.16,N.Y.
months ago. She was brought to Holly-
wood jrom New York where she had been
a singer and dancer in musical comedies
. . . After completing his role in this pic-
ture, Jimmy Durante returned to New
York for a three months' record-breaking
engagement at the Copacabana Club and a
personal appearance at the Capitol Theater
. . . Marsha Hunt returns to her home lot
for this one. Marsha has been working at
Columbia since completing "Lost Angel"
for Metro several months ago . . . Hugh
Herbert does another terrific bit of comedy.
Hugh is perfect as the inebriated old
forger, Marie Wilson's Uncle Ferdinand.
. . . This picture marks the reunion of the
producer-director team of Joe Pasternak
and Henry Koster, the two responsible for
much of the success of Deanna Durbin's
early pictures. It also brings scenario
writer Myles Connolly together again with
two of his cronies — Pasternak and Koster.
HANGOVER SQUARE
We are going to miss Laird Cregar. He
was one of the best of the younger char-
acter actors, as you know from his per-
formance in "The Lodger." "Hangover
Square" is another classic of murder re-
sulting from a twisted mind, with Cregar
giving a superb performance.
Split personality has served as the key-
stone for many a movie plot, from the
first "Dr. Jekyll And Mr. Hyde" on down.
In this new picture it provides an eerie
motif for a story of London in 1903. Hang-
over Square was a sort of London-type
Greenwich Village at that time, artists,
writers and musicians live there — some
successful, some starving. George Bone
(Laird Cregar) is halfway up the ladder.
He has written classical music which has
achieved considerable notice and is now at
work on a concerto that should really
make him famous. But George's intense
concentration on his work does odd things
to his mind. Sometimes his consciousness
seems to take a holiday, leaving his body
to carry on by itself. George doesn't
know what he does during these blank
periods, and it worries him. He confides
his worries to his friend, Barbara (Faye
Marlowe), and she goes with him to see a
famous nerve specialist, Dr. Middleton
(George Sanders).
The doctor is reassuring. He thinks a
new interest, some hobby unconnected
with the concerto, will fix George. It's
doubtful if he had in mind an interest like
Netta (Linda Darnell), would-be night
club singer, but when George meets her
the next night, he thinks she's just what
the doctor ordered. Netta goes to work on
him in a very thorough fashion, for she
recognizes that he can help her get where
she wants to go. In a month's time the
concerto lies in a corner, dusty and forgot-
ten, while George writes popular tunes for
Netta. She uses him as a stepping stone
to fame, and, incidentally, to marriage
with a well-known producer. George's
blank periods begin to come back, this time
in a more sinister form. Gradually it be-
comes plain that murder accompanies
them. The climax is inevitable — and terri-
fy ing !— 20th - Fox.
P. S.
Take one homicidal maniac roaming the
foggy London streets at night, a cheap
music hall singer with ambition, add mur-
der, arson, excitement, suspense and terror,
and you have "Hangover Square." . . .
When producer Robert Bassler decided to
put this story on celluloid, he chose Barre
Lyndon to make the screen o~ rptation be-
cause Lyndon is a born Londoner who has
written half a dozen best selling mystery
novels . . . The first big problem was secur-
I SAW IT HAPPEN
It was a Saturday
night, and I was
doing a singing en-
gagement at a very
popular Detroit
night club. The
floor show had just
begun when I re-
ceived a phone call
from New York City
«§3y informing me that
my two-year-old
son, Billy, was dying of pneumonia
and imploring me to hurry to his
bedside.
As I hung up, the musical cue for
my number, "Mighty Lak A Rose,"
sounded. The lights dimmed, the spot
focused, and I stumbled out on the
floor. With an effort, I picked up the
melody and began singing. Suddenly,
a lump came into my throat, I gulped
— tried to go on, and couldn't. The
orchestra was still playing.
Then from the half-darkened au-
dience, came a girl's voice, sing-
ing my song. The spotlight swept
Jrom me to the voice and focussed
upon a very pretty young lady. I stood
dumbfounded. It wasn't until she'd
finished that song, as well as five en-
cores, that I recognized her.
I escorted her back to her table and
thanked her for helping me. She
acknowledged my appreciation by
quipping, "I thought perhaps you'd
seen me and become frightened."
Thanks again, Martha Raye.
William C. Lane,
Jackson, Michigan
ing an original piano concerto — that music
which is an integral part of the story. It
had to be so good it could be played by
the finest symphony orchestras without
criticism. This assignment was turned over
to Bernard Herrmann, composer and mu-
sical director for Columbia Broadcasting
System. Herrmann spent six weeks writ-
ing his "Hangover Square Concerto." It
has mood, melody and originality. Studio
•execs expect it to have, also, a future . . .
NeW' photographic effects had to be devised
to give audiences some insight into the
workings of an insane mind. Joseph La-
Shelle, A. S. C, new to the industry and
one of the most progressive of Hollywood
photographers, has used the camera in a
revolutionary manner to capture this eeri-
ness. To tell you how might spoil the pic-
ture for you. When you see "Hangover
Square" at your local movie house, don't
let the photography effects escape you . . .
Last picture for Laird Cregar before his
untimely death. Itfs a good send-off for
the late Mr. Cregar — he's done some of his
finest acting in it.
FRISCO SAL
Turhan Bey is just the lad for this color-
ful, exciting story of the Barbary Coast.
As the owner of the garish dive called The
First Dollar, he strolls around giving orders
to his gang and the eye to Susanna Foster
with equal aplomb. Susanna plays Sally,
a New England choir singer who comes to
San Francisco in search of information
on the reported murder of her brother.
Sally has a clue, such as it is. She has
heard that he frequented a place which
served duck stuffed with orange. This
leads her straight to The First Dollar . . .
and Dude Perente (Turhan Bey). Sally
thinks she'll get a job there and do a little
(Continued on page 18)
$K'iSL<Q YsS,^ «^ou>t ~b<xvdsi a-y)|0fc<jj}tv^|.
TRUMY
The
"Beforehand"
Lotion
PBOOUCT OF
BRISTOL-MYERS
. . .Owes its great popularity
to its consistent high quality and
fine flavor.
Rosalind (Rita Hayworth), and her story
starts back before the war. She and Judy
(Janet Blair) are rehearsing one day when
a young man named Tommy (Marc Piatt)
comes in looking for a dancer's job. He
makes up his steps as he goes along, and
the directress doesn't think much of that
system. But Rosalind and Judy persuade
her to take him on, and by the time the
blitz comes, he is their co-star.
There are plenty of nights when the
bombing is so heavy that the audience
shares the actors' shelter under the stage.
It is on one of these nights that Rosalind
meets RAF Squadron Leader Paul Lundy
(Lee Bowman). He starts an immediate
campaign for her affections, but Rosalind
thinks he's just another wolf, and he
doesn't make much progress. Tommy,
however, sees that underneath her casual
manner, Rosalind is really falling for Paul,
and he is bitterly jealous.
Paul is send away on a secret mission,
and when she doesn't hear from him,
Rosalind is so unhappy that she realizes
she is in love with him. He comes back
safely, with a ten-hour leave in London,
and how do you think they spend it?
Walking four white horses all through the
streets! Honest! You'll have to see the
picture to find out the explanation, but you
were going to do that anyway, weren't
you?— Col.
P. S.
This picture is incidentally notable in
that it presents the cinema's first stellar
all-redhead dance team, consisting of
Rita Hayworth and Marc Piatt. The latter
is Columbia's recruit from the cast of
Broadway's "Oklahoma!" This prepon-
derance of redheads was tough on
Janet Blair. In order to avoid a measure
of chromatic confusion, Janet had her red
hair changed to blond for the period of the
shooting schedule. She reverted right back
to red again, however, as soon as her per-
formance, was concluded. . . . Marc Plattfs
Hitler dance should do for him what Gene
Kelly's "alter ego" routine did for him.
Marc can — and does — improvise dancing to
anything. To the rhythm of the loom, to
anything that comes in on the radio, to Hit-
ler's rantings of the period. The dance is
highly acrobatic and wholly original. . . .
But with all the dancing there is in this pic-
ture, there isn't a tap step in the whole
show. The studio figured that everything
that could, be done with taps had been done.
This is different. . . . Look closely at Rita
Hayworth's complexion. This time she was
made up throughout with the new "one-
shot" powder method devised by Clay
Campbell. It consists of using assorted face
powders of yellow, pink and green tints,
singly and in various combinations, ahead
of each shot during the day. This enables
the subject's complexion to conform more
closely to the lighting of each shot than is
possible with all day greasepaint. . . . How-
ever, Mr. Campbell doesn't recommend his
new green powder for street wear!
FLAME OF B Alt BAH Y
COAST
When a gambling cowboy tries to take
over the Barbary Coast just to impress a
gorgeous blonde, you're bound to have
excitement. Particularly when the cowboy
is John Wayne. That lad is six feet five of
drawling dynamite. "Flame of Barbary
Coast" possesses the added distinction of
being one picture where you don't know
till the very end which guy is going to
get the girl. The girl is Ann Dvorak, and
the other man is Joseph Schildkraut, who
turns in an exceptionally smooth perfor-
mance as Tito Morell.
Tito owns El Dorado, the fanciest gam-
bling house on the Barbary Coast. This
enables him to keep his star singer, Flaxen
(Ann Dvorak), up to her ears in diamonds.
Flaxen is no girl for a poor man, and Duke
(John Wayne), the cowboy from Montana
who falls in love with her, realizes it. After
Tito cleans him out at stud poker, he goes
back to Montana, sells his ranch and starts
taking gambling lessons from an old card
sharp (William Frawley). Then he goes
back to the Coast, ready for action.
A man as powerful as Tito could, of
course, get rid of Duke easily if he wanted
to use force. But Tito is a suave, charming
man with a sense of humor. He likes Duke
— he just wishes he didn't have this un-
fortunate yen for Flaxen. Because Tito
wants it definitely understood that Flaxen
is his property. Duke has learned a lot
since his last trip to the Coast, and he
systematically takes over the professional
gamblers until he has gotten enough
money to build a de luxe gambling house
called The Silver Dollar. He tries to
persuade Flaxen to come and star in the
floor show, but she refuses until one day
when Tito quarrels with her. Then she
goes to Duke to make him jealous.
So there she is on the opening night of
Duke's spectacular show. Lovely, desir-
able and "in love with Tito. But that night
the earthquake strikes San Francisco, and
when it's over, the whole situation is
changed. The climax is dramatic, and I
think you'll be happy over the outcome
of the love story. By the way, there's a
particularly ingratiating tune in the picture
called "Here Is My Heart." I'm still hum-
ming it. — Rep.
P. S.
This is the first picture for Dvorak since
her return from London where she has
been ambulance driving for more than two
years. . . . Wayne, just back from a tour of
the South Pacific where he was constantly
under fire, said he far preferred the danger
from the Japs to the dangers around the set
during the earthquake scenes. Some of
the highest paid prop and stunt men in the
business were hired for these sequences.
The walls and ceilings had to be destroyed
on split second timing to avoid serious
injury to the players. . . . Larry Ceballos,
who directed the dances, studied dancing
of the 1906 period for weeks before he
started rehearsals with his company. He
was determined they should be authentic.
. . . Joe Schildkraut returns to the screen
in this one. Joe plans to alternate between
the movies and Broadway. He will do one
picture a year for Republic, then train back
to New York for the remainder of the
season. . . . Arlyn Roberts was hired as
an extra for the picture. When studio
bosses saw the rushes, they signed her to a
long-term contract. . . . Much credit for
this picture should go to Walter Schraf
(Academy Award winning musical di-
rector) for his background music. Much
of the authenticity is given the film by the
old favorites which Mr. Schraf dug out
of an old trunk in the Republic attic,
dusted off and worked into a catchy tune.
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Did you read our Editorial on page 29? If you haven't, better skip over to it right
now! As Al Delacorte says, we're having this fashion survey for you 'specially. We
want to help you find just the kind of clothes you crave, as well as give you the com-
plete dope on what's new every month and help you out personally with your clothes
problems via our Fashion Department. But first we have to know what sort of things
you like and wear. And to show you how really important this is to us, we've got
a supply of 2500 pictures of your favorite stars to send you for FREE! Yes, we've
got glossies of Frankie, Van Johnson, Lon McCallister, Jeanne Crain and June
Allyson to send you. All you have to do is fill out the following Questionnaire and
mail it off to us not later than the 20th of February, but hurry, 'cause the pix won't
last long.
questionnaire
How many skirts did you buy last year?
Sweaters? Suits?
Blouses? Coats?
Dresses? Evening dresses? .
What is the most you would pay for a dress? The least? .
The amount you usually spend?
Do you ever make your own dresses? Sweaters? . . .
How many hats do you have?
What is the most you would spend for a hat? The least?
The amount you usually spend?
Which of the following would you wear on a date? (check one)
skirt and sweater pastel wool
black crepe
Which of the following would you wear to school? (check one)
slacks wool suit
skirt and sweater silk dress
Which of the following would you wear to the office? (check one)
tweed suit tailored dress
silk dress
Which of the following would you wear to to an evening party? (check one)
bouffant evening dress slick, sophisticated evening dress
short evening dress
Fur .
Cloth .
Imitation fur.
What kind of coat or coats do you have?
Sport Cloth with fur trim.
What is the most you would spend for a coat? The least?
The amount you usually spend?
Do you buy or read any fashion magazines? (If so, name the mag or mags)
Which one of the following stars' pictures would you like us to send you (Check
ONE ONLY)
Frank Sinatra □ Van Johnson Q Lon McCallister □
Jeanne Crain □ June Allyson □
City.
Age
Zone .... State . no . .
My name is
My address is
ADDRESS THIS TO: POLL DEPT.. MODERN SCREEN
149 MADISON AVENUE. NEW YORK 16. N. Y.
IF YOU "HATE EXERCISE" AND "LOVE TO EAT"—
Here's a New lazyWay to REDUCE
- Qu/ck/y aw/Safety
10-Day Miracle Diet-Lose 10 Pounds in 10 Days! -and Still Eat
3 Delicious, Satisfying Meals a Day; Not Do a Bit of Extra Exercise!
PARTIAL CONTENTS
Showing HOW This Book Takes
Off the Pounds and the Bulges
I. THE SURE WAY TO REDUCE
The "Lazy Way" to Loss
Weight. How you can reduca
quickly and safely — no exer-
cise, no hunger pangs, no
drugs, girdles or gadgets.
How Much Do You Want
to Reduce — How Fast? Your
choice of diets that reducs
you rapidly or gradually, aa
you wish.
Exercise Is a Practical
Joker. Why exercise alone is
a poor way to reduce.
No Drugs, No Sweat, No
Charge. Wny you can ignore
costly sweat baths, reducing
drugs, dangerous fasting etc.
Counting Calories Isn't
Enough. "Galloping calories"
that slim you faster.
II. WHY YOU DON'T GET SLIM
Coffee, Tea, Cocoa, Milk, Cocktail Calories. The
Water, Soft Drinks. How bev- strange role of alcohol In
erages affect weight control building fat.
— with some surprises 1
III. YOU CRACK DOWN ON CALORIES
How Proteins Help You
Get Slim. Beducing without
hunger or sacrificing vitality.
The Simple Arithmetic of
Reducing. Easy way to set
your calorie Quota whether
you're a housewife, war plant
worker, stenographer, etc.
10- Day Miracle Diet. Safe,
easy way to lose a pound a
day for'10 days. Daily menus.
Heartier Diets. 3 dally
diets for losing 10 pounds
a month. How to substitute
other foods you like better.
2 "STAT Slim" diets.
The Fastest SAFE Slim-
ming Program. Diet safe-
guards that make speedy
weight reduction safe.
Two • Minute Calorie-
Counting Table. At-a-glance
chart showing kinds of cal-
ories in 26 meat dishes, 4
kinds of milk. 13 fish, 10
cheese and egg servings, 41
vegetables, 29 fruits, 19
breads, cereals, 16 pies, pas-
tries, 17 fats, sugars, syrups,
7 nuts, 11 soups, 18 "llttlo
things", 15 beverages.
Eat as Often as You Want.
Exploding the no -food- be-
tween-meals myth and the
nothing - but - coffee - fer -
breakfast error.
IV. YOU COUNT YOUR VITAMINS THE EASY WAY
You Needn't Pay Extra for Infants,
Vitamins. How to get all you
need from foods alone.
Your Dally Vitamin Needs.
Complete table showing units
of A, Bl. C, G, D needed for
Adults.Adolescents.Children,
Pregnant Women.
Lightning Vitamin Calcu-
lator. Vitamin units in 78
common foods in handy chart.
Cook Them Kindly. 9 sim-
ple rules to preserve vitamins
in preparing foods.
V. EAT FOR BEAUTY, CHARM AND— YES,
REALLY — SEX APPEAL
Skin You Love to Touch.
How Vitamin A and other
elements promote clear, beau-
tiful skin.
Teeth You Love to Brush.
Food, for healthy teeth.
Diet Cure for Constipation.
"Scare" warnings vs. truth.
No Pep, No Joy, No
Friends. Is this youf
How you can remedy it
— at the dinner table 1
Gray Hair. Baldness
land the Diet. What scl-
[ence has learned about
f diet effects on hair.
VI. EATING FOR "OOMPH"
Food and Glamour. Be- Anemia Wins No Love
lation of what you eat to Prizes. Bed - blooded
personal appearance, vi- "romance" minerals; how to
tality, sex appeal. get them.
What This Book is Doing for Other*
"Lost the specified 10 lbs. in 10 days.
Feel better than in years." — Wisconsin.
"My sister is very short, weighed 196.
Was so thrilled to be losing weight, would
even get up in the night to weigh herself.
Now weigh3 120, is healthier, happier."
— Michigan.
"Kindly forward me the book. Have a
friend who lost 34 lbs., is now ever so much
better in health, appearance." — California
"Most sensible way to reduce I have seen
yet. I'm a registered nurse and can fully
appreciate sensibility of this means." —
Massachusetts.
"Lost 35 lbs. In 41 days. Compliments to
your book." — West Virginia.
Examine It 5 Days FREE
It costs only a stamp to examine this book
FREE. No money need be sent now. "The New
Way to Eat and Get Slim" (in a plain wrapper)
will be sent with the understanding that you may
keep it 5 days. If, even in that short time, you
are NOT convinced it offers you the quick, safe,
lazy-way to reduce— return it without obligation.
Otherwise, keep it for only |2.00, plus few
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A body that is slim, healthy, and alive will
win admiration the rest of your life. Take the
first step toward lovely, alluring slenderness now.
Mail Free Examination Coupon at once.
WILFRED FUNK, Inc.. Dept. R353, 354
Fourth Aveaue, New York 10, N. Y.
YES, it's true-this new 10-Day MIRACLE
DIET — thanks to latest discoveries in
weight control! Now— WHETHER A MAN
OR A WOMAN-you can lose 10 pounds
in 10 days, 30 pounds or more within 3
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WITHOUT strenuous, difficult exercises. WITH-
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ing in steam baths or spending money for massages.
WITHOUT suffering the dizziness, nausea, and
torture of self-imposed starvation!
You'll eat three delicious, fully-satisfying meals
a day, including a big breakfast. You'll be allowed
to "snack" between meals. This new scientific lazy-
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What Is This Amazing Secret?
The whole secret lies in your food— not just how
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It's the kind of calories that makes the difference!
Some foods are high in /(/'-producing calories.
Others are high in energy-producing calories. If
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simply "slows down"— and continues to store fat!
Many people think they know about calories. But do
they? Suppose you had to choose between a large glass of
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What This Book Can Do For You
Mr.
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to apply this simple principle of selecting energy-calories
instead of fat- calories. It gives you a "10 -Day Miracle
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for losing 10 pounds in 30 days; a "tapering off diet for
losing 8V2 pounds in 30 days; and a Stay-Slim" diet, so
that when you reach the right weight, you STAY there.
You don't have to adhere rigidly to these diets, either.
The book's Substitution Table gives you dozens of meats,
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on this page, suggests only a few of the ways this book
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general disposition.
^WILFRED FUNK, Ine., Dept. R353. """"
1 354 Fourth Ave., New York 10, N. Y.
Please send me— In a plain wrapper — "The New Way I
to Eat and Get Slim" for 5 days' FREE EXAMINATION. I
If I keep the book I will send you $2.00 plus actual post-
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Name
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City.
Zone No.
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□ Check here If enclosing $2.00 'WITH this coupon, I
and WE will pay the postage. The same 5-day re-
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23
As I read his letter over and over, I could
almost hear Jim say, "Your lovely hair won
jny heart the first day I met you."
And yet, a short time ago my hair was duller
than any girl's in the office. Then one day I
heard them talking about Nestle Colorinse.
"I use it after every shampoo," one of them
said. "Why Colorinse has made my hair
really glow with richer color and sparkling
highlights. Made it silkier, too, and gave it
a soft, lustrous sheen."
Would Colorinse do that for my hair?, I
wondered. That very night I tried it and—
What a breath-taking difference in my hair!
Jim says though he's thousands of miles
away he'll never forget its loveliness. Why
don't you let Nestle Colorinse make your
hair more glamorous, too?
MFor your next permanent, ask for an Opalescent Creme
■ i
' Wave, by Nestle — originators of permanent waving.
COLORINSE
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At beauty counters
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For that well-groomed look,
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MODERN SCREEN'S PICTURE QUIZ
Something new has been added. Pictures new and old, questions simple and bold, a
chance to test your memory and sharpen your wits. Pick the correct answer from the
four listed under each pic, giving yourself one point for each. You're a genius if you
score between 9-12. So-So if you hit between 6-9 and Pffft below 6. (Answers on page 94.)
1. Umbriago's pal keeps yelling:
a. "I vant to be c. "Everybody wants
2. His ex-wife used to be known as Phylis Isley.
now she's:
alone.'
b. "Come up 'n' see
me sometimes . . ."
to get into the act!"
d. "My little chicka-
dee."
a. Laraine Day
b. Dolores Moran
c. Jennifer Jones
d. Cheryl Crawford
3. The Captain's given his heart and his name to:
a. Annie Sheridan c. Belita
4. Norma thrilled the world as the 14-yeax-old:
b. Phyllis Thaxter
d. Jane Wyman
a. Marie Antoinette
b. Irina
d. Juliet
c. Elizabeth Brown-
ing
*
5. She's wed to a "Young
a. Betty Grable
b. Lana Turner
Man With a Horn":
c. Marlene Dietrich
d. Ida Lupino
He won his Oscar in 1940 for playing:
a. Mr. Pitt Cristo
b. Mr. Chips
c. Count of Monte
d. The Ghost
Went West
Who
Lassie emotes for:
a. $125.00 per week c. Unlimited quanti-
b. Love of the theater ties of bones
d. Gratis
Melvyn Douglas'
a. Housewife
b. D.A.R.
wife is a:
c. Congresswoman
d. Vegetarian
m Columbia's Technicolor Production
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TO OUR READERS
■ Will one of you girls step up and go through my pockets? I want you all to be
sure that I have none of my usual bum jokes or puns concealed about my person.
You see, this month I am in deadly earnest, because I am talking about the woman
I love (one of them, anyway) — Jean Kinkead.
If you read Jean's Co-Ed (p. 6) regularly, you know a great deal about her. You know
she loves people. You know, too, that she approaches your problems with a happy com-
bination of common sense, sympathy and humor.
But you may not know that Jean has a husband in the Pacific; a curly-headed
little son named Layng, of all things; a black dog; a big house to run; and that
the Kinkead byline appears regularly in Charm, Vogue, Cosmopolitan and Colliers!
(Common sense, humor, sympathy! , Jean needs a full measure of all three!)
Anyway, that's your girl-friend. That's the wonderful person who last month took
over Marge Bailey's fashion pages in MODERN SCREEN. And if I say so myself, some-
thing new has been added.
Yes, for a change, Jean doesn't give a hoot in hell what the Duchess of Windsor
wore to the opera. For a change, her sole interest is you, {Continued on page 108)
Executive Editor
fT MiJAtXt 0uJk|
The Hay men are just folks— spaghetti dinners on the library
floor, rescuing jr, from the medicine ehesU housebreaking purps.
>« 2 r-
V
ft
The Haymes boast the Roy Rogers and Lou Costellos as neigh-
bors, the Jack Carsons as pals. Joanne's hoping Dick' 1 1 outgrow
habit of forever touring apt. shutting doors, panning his own shows.
Almost a pro, Dick perfected his fishing technique in Canada
where he studied to be a Jesuit, can't bear thought of hunting.
Admits dab of cologne at midday perks him up till eve.
Dick's huge steak yen has to be satisfied in eateries — wifie lost their ration
books! Phone him and either Joanne or his manager answers — he becomes
speech(ess at phone! Catch his next pic, "Billy Rose's Diamond Horseshoe "
ond Horseshoe.'
Originally weighing 125, 105-pound Joanne loses weight with each baby, attends
ballet class for mothers to tighten muscles. When son Skipper started talking, he
aped the weird jabber Mom uses for kids, now has trouble recognizing real English!
■ Hang a harvest moon low in the West
to indicate the tender hours after mid-
night. Turn your calendar back to Sep-
tember, 1941. Seat a boy and a girl in
a car discussing their future.
Said the girl, "I've worked fairly hard
to get started on as much of a career as
I have. I want to go on with it after
I'm married. Would you mind?"
Said the boy, "I'll say I wouldn't
mind. I believe in careers for girls,
married or single." Yes, that's what he
said, but Dick Haymes confessed to
Joanne about two years later that he
hadn't really meant his answer as she
understood it. He believed in a career
for wives, definitely, but the career was
motherhood.
And so in September they were mar-
ried and moved joyously into their
apartment. It had been an unfurnished
apartment, and it remained one-third
that way. Dick's mother supplied the
newlyweds with a set of dishes, a table
and chairs for the dinette. She furnished
the I Continued on following page)
31
MOTHER
Horn new exactly
puts the clasps on, she just
looks. And Shirley knows
when sal's licked.
Shirley averages ti in high school; gets A's between pics.
Subjects include biology, chemistry, history, Eng. lit. and
French. Wants to study science at college for 2 years.
4m
Claims sapphire ring, diamond watch come trom people.^
Geo. Cukor, adding scenes to "I'll Be Seeing You/'
Tapped while waiting 2 hours tor her to finish school!
Gets most of her exercise from bicycling and tennis. Made "gold
teams" in badminton, baseball and basketball in school. Katy, the
maid, prepares cream cheese and iam sandwiches for her "lunch.
Midnight's deaaime tor dates — earlier during school nights. Swains average
between 18 and 20, with exception of one "older man" of 22. Expects to
marry at 20, have kids pronto. Will continue career only if hubby consents.
s,
Reads all best sellers and subscribes to Book of the Month Club. She loves
noisy radio serials which come on around dinner time, so takes meal in her own
room to avoid disturbing family. Doesn't jitterbug, but adores J. Dorsey.
'hirley Temple was a tired girl;
she and her parents and a publicity man had
been working their way back from the East
after the opening of "Since You Went
•Away." They were attending Bond rallies,
giving interviews, posing for photog-
raphers, making themselves charming in the
manner demanded by fans, buyers of
Bonds, etc., « etc. But one evening, in a mid-
west city, Shirley and her mother faced
each other. "I'm exhausted," said Shirley.
Mrs. Temple was too tired to speak. She
just looked. Then she went to the tele-
phone. After protracted conversation she
came back with The Word. She and Shir-
ley could catch a late train to Chicago
that afternoon, but there was space for
only two. Mr. Temple and the rest of the
party would then have to catch a later
conveyance. {Continued on page 113)
"I
OUGHT TO BOX HIS
One of life's most embarrassing moments came on "Royal Scan-
dal" set when 75 visiting Marines spied Bill in Hussar's uniform,
let go with whistles, catcalls. Above,
ith Taloo Bankhead.
■ We call him the Brash Brat. In affection, let me
hasten to add, before you readers come gunning for
me. Tallulah Bankhead started it, and I pretty
soon saw what she meant.
"That Brash Brat'll be a star when A Royal
Scandal' comes out!"
"Who's the Brash Brat?"
"Bill Eythe, of course. But don't get me wrong,
Hedda. I adore the so-and-so — "
So I ran the item in my column; that, according
to Taloo, Eythe was headed for stardom.
Next day he called. "Hi, honey! Thanks for the
blossoms."
Hi, honey! And he younger than my own son!
Was I sore? Are you kidding? I loved him for it.
The guy has an undeniable way with him.
Lubitsch produced "A Royal Scandal," and Lu-
bitsch, Lord knows, is no sentimentalist. But one
day he stopped Bill on the set.
"Are you an orphan?"
"God forbid. Why?"
"If you were, I'd adopt you." From then on,
he was Pops to Bill. >
Here's the topper, though. Taloo gave a party.
Bill hates big shindigs, but he went. So did Garbo.
As a kid he'd seen her in "Romance" and never
got over it. They were introduced. He stood like
a moonstruck calf and couldn't say boo. I felt like
yelling, "Hi, honey!" [hope I got credit in heaven
for keeping my trap shut].
"What do you do?" she asked.
"Glug — 'manactor — ■"
"Where do vou work?" [Continued on page 101)
; his very — «<ikm°" on<"",s
, Tells »es *°
the brass to
38
By George Benjamin
In Honolulu, she spotted sailor from' home town, Detroit, promptly kissed
him When 3 Marine sergeants bragged they could date her, their com-
pany took them up on it. Invalided home, they phoned her, got date!
After one week's rest from trek, Betty started new picture at Par.
Sister Marian came out to spend Christmas with her and Mom making
it first time in 7 years the whole family's been together at Yuletide.
"Wi-m-iq in By Army- p1aTTe~To"do fTfst big show on Saipan
was one of biggest thrills of 8-week tour. Took off on
trip immediately after finishing "Here Come the Waves."
The Marines
laundered her undies; a
couple thousand Gl's
kissed her Ifpstick off; a Jap
sniper took a potshot
HUTTON OR NUTTIN !
■ High in the sky over the glassy Mid-Pacific a giant
C-54 droned lazily along. Flights of roaring escort
fighters with stars on their wings swooped across its
nose and darted behind the tail, and inside the cabin
a wide-eyed blonde girl you'd know anywhere perched
in the co-pilot's seat. Her slightly snubby nose swung
around in all directions, and her big blue eyes kept
their shutters wide-open. She wasn't missing a trick.
Miles down below, a funny-shaped island ringed
with white surf passed under the wings.
'What's that?" asked the girl.
"Rota," said the pilot. .
"Do we land there?"
He grinned. "Not exactly. That's Jap."
"'Oh, look!" she cried. "Look at those cute little
clouds!" The pilot didn't even turn his head.
"Those aren't clouds." he chuckled. "They're Jap
shells. Ack-ack. Flak. It conies from guns —
"Whoopee!" cried the girl excitedly. "Who are they
shooting at?"
The fellow with the wings gave her a funny look.
"Us," he said.
Maybe if Hirohitos trigger-happy henchmen had
guessed that Betty Hutton of Hollywood was inside
that C-54, winging her way around the scrappy, Jappy
Mid-Pacific island battlefields to tote some home-made
feminine fun and frolic to sweating, slugging GI Joes,
they'd have turned on the heat and shot the whole
Rota ammunition dump at that particular plane. A
direct hit would have made a swell item for Tokyo Rose
to bleat about over the radio, all right, besides providing
a distinctly new experience for the step-sons of Heaven
to have Hutton come tumbling down out of the
blue, yelling like all get-out. (Continued on page 86)
Rest of troupe (Arthur Herbert, Tito Suidotti, Va. Carroll, Natives of Ma|uro brought gifts to Virginia Carrol and Betty when
Geo. Costa) envied mileage of Betty's short snorter. Unscratched they landed on island. Betty's current crop of romances include Hanl<
after 50,000-mile trelc, she promptly jammed arm thru car window! Dunham, Lola Lane's ex-qroom, Arturo de Cordova, Eddie Norns.
41
By Kirtley Baskette
Jameses will celebrate Vicky's first birthday March 4th. Betty s
■found crackerjack nurse, and STudio cooperates by providing
nurse's stand-in, giving Grable days off to care for the babe.
■ Smack in the middle of a bitter front-line
battle in France recently, a Nazi bomb screamed
down on a group of Yanks huddled in a slit-
trench. It exploded too close for comfort, with a
wicked "C-a-r-r-u-m-p-h!" and the results were
tragic.
Not one of the dozen doughboys was even
scratched. But Betty Grable got both legs blown off.
Betty discovered her wounds away back in Hol-
lywood, when she stared at the powder-burned
top half of her terrific torso and her famous face,
sfill grinning gaily over her bathing suit in a cer-
tain Pettyesque pose- that has won Betty fame
wherever Yankee soldiers fight. It arrived with a
letter from the bombed squad skipper telling Betty
the sad fate of their cherished pin-up and ending
with this urgent plea —
"Please rush our gang another picture, will you.
Pal — a whole one? Because, what good is Grable
without legs?"
Betty hustled off the replacement picture right
away, you can bet, properly autographed to the
Betty wanted to sell Calif, house and follow Harry on tour this winter,
but MD nixed plans. Meanwhile, transcontinental phone calls burn
wires. She, mother and Vicky will join him in New York come June.
gusty gang, and thrilled to the toes herself with
her Purple Heart souvenir pin-up. But she sighed
a little wistfully to note that her GI tribute also
carried the popular (and certainly inadequate)
estimate of Miss Betty Grable— "What's Grable
without her legs?"
Of course, ten million GI's can't be wrong, and
with thousands of Grable leg-art nifties circulated
throughout Uncle Sam's hosts to make life less
dreary for hard fighting Joes, far be it from us
to cast asparagus at their conclusions after care-
ful study. Furthermore, it would.be downright
silly to state that those glorious Grable gambas
and dreamy body design have had nothing to do
with making Betty Darryl Zanuck's' box-office
empress- In fact, if there is a modern Hollywood
Venus, it's Mrs. Grable's little girl, Elizabeth—
or else all weights and measures and camera
impressions lie — and you'd better wire your
Congressman.
But if you think Betty Grable is simply a
decked out blonde baby doll who can sing and
dance and act a little— a walking Petty girl
pin-up with nothing but luscious looks on the ball
—then you've got another think coming. Because
there's plenty more to Betty than just lovely legs.
Yes, indeed!
There's the Betty, for instance, who came out
of an anaesthetic fog the morning after the Acad-
emy Awards— and the evening after the greatest
performance of her life which had almost cost
her that life — who learned both news flashes at
the same time in her hospital bed and cracked
spunkily but sincerely, "I'd rather have what I've
got than what Jennifer Jones got!" There's the
Betty who dashes home every noon hour and
often skips lunch to have a precious ten min-
utes with that baby. There's a Grable who breaks
her beauty rest every . night at three A.M. to
cheer up her lonesome husband, Harry James,
when he phones after winding up his work at
midnight back East. There's a Betty who worries
more about her mother's {Continued on page 79)
After role in "Billy Rose* Diamond Horseshoe' (with Phil Silvers arc
Wm Gaxton, above), Betty threatens to'retire and stay home w,th Harry.
Says she's blissful and doesn't want anything to happen to marriage.
Jameses want to farm, will sell Beverly Hills mansion with pool a ^soo o
they find the house and barn of their dreams. .When Harry makes record
ings. Betty silently sits by for 5 or 6 hours listening and applauding,
46
i
Dick Hoymes is leading man in "Horseshoe." OWI floored Fox by request-
ing info on Grable. Seems they're showing her pics in Europe where she's
unknown! She's turned songwriter, and Harry will feature her first tune.
When Spence Tracy heard that Harry's fan mail was exceeding Gable's, he
muttered, "Gosh, have I got to learn how to blow one of those things?"
Betty's mourning loss of 13-year-old dog who came to H'wood with her.
47
something for
■ Are you surprised! Finding these two glorious portraits
of Ingrid Bergman and Gregory Peck! And without even
askina for them! But y'know, for four years now, you've been
stars you like-and the MODERN SCREEN
. favorites! So just this once, can we play,
,Jst for the record, here's how the office poll
worked olf : Al, Henry, Bill, Gus and Otto breathed one name
in unison— Ingrid. Annette, Ann, Mickey, Sylvia and Kay-
being women— did a little hair-pulling before their verdict
came in. But all's well once more and we hereby quote:
Said the boys — "We love Ingrid for her shine and her joy
and the Stardust in her eyes. For the way she holds herself
and her walk that is the walk of a queen and the unbeliev
able heart-timbre of her voice and the truth
out of make-believe."
Said the girls — "We choose Gregory Pe<
cerity and his gentle passion and the huge promise
showed in 'Days Of . Glory' and 'Keys Of The Kingdom.1
In Gregory, there's no doubt that 1945 brought forth
with it another star from the East. . . ."
id tne unbeliev-
MOthing for tHe girls
ere promise he %J Sm
49
By Jeanne Karr
Juanita ("She's a jewel!") comes by the 'day, is teaching Mrs.
H. cookery. Big job's guarding Bob's collection of miniatures
and sentimental discs, also his Ma's cookies— from Natalie!
Bob didn't meet his pa-in-law, a Col., until I hour before wedding ceremony
where Usher Cary Grant (a distant cousin of Bob's) caused a riot among
femme guests. (Reliable sources report that the Hutton tie-up is going Pfft.)
Bob's a "thriller" reader unable to convert his "brainy wife. They ve just
rented 5 room apt. from agent who hates actors, have to borrow Natalies
Ma's servants to polish wedding silver. He's smooth in "Roughly Speaking.
Be registered passion at $7.50 tin hour, tloused
a drunk who annoyed hint. Timid? Bob Button?
s mum about source of 2 packs of ciggies per day, afraid he'll create
mpedel Though Huttons have a budget, fun and $1.00 fireplace logs
' it off. But poker sessions lasting till 3 ayem help make up difference!
■ The lobby of the Waldorf-Astoria was crowded,
as usual. People rushed back and forth, wearing
anxious expressions New Yorkers seem to get.
By the elevators stood a handsome young man,
also wearing an anxious expression, although he
wasn't a New Yorker. His knees, if anyone had
noticed, were shaking slightly.
"Miss Davis will be along any minute now,"
the dapper hotel manager beside him announced.
"You say you know her well?"
"Uh — no. Not well. We — uh — we just made a
picture together."
"I see. You played the lead opposite Miss
Davis?"
"No — uh — no. It's kind of an unusual pic-
ture. Nobody exactly plays the lead." The tall
young man laughed hollowly.
The manager's eyebrows rose. He surveyed the
young man with the dawning light of suspicion
in his eyes. A small crowd had gathered to see
Miss Davis, and they also stared. It seemed to
the young man that they, too, regarded him with
suspicion. He swallowed audibly. What had ever
made him say he knew Bette Davis? He did
know her, sure, but maybe she wouldn't .re-
member him. Just because you'd worked in a
picture with a star didn't mean she would recog
nize you in New York. Maybe he'd better get to
his room right now before she showed up.
But it was too late. The little crowd surged
forward, and there she was. The manager spoke
to her and she smiled politely. Someone asked
for Jier autograph, and she turned to give it.
She glanced at the handsome young man and
suddenly smiled.
"Why, Bob Hutton! How nice to see you
here. I haven't had {Continued on page 96)
By Maris MacCullers and Charts Zeigler
1. At Blair Gen^ Hospital, Nurse Byrd (Alma Kruger), Dr. Gilles-
pie (L. Barrymore) and Dr. Lee (Keye Luke) gang up on over-
worked Dr.*"Red" Adams (Van Johnson), arrange night out.
4. Previously when m.c. Tobey (Keehan Wynn) auctioned off show-
girls' kisses to highest Bond bidders, Ruth offered hundred grand
if Red would kiss her. Of necessity he complied, found it good!
2. Girf in the case, Ruth (Marilyn Maxwell), is in cahoots with Dr. Gillespie
and, greets Red at appointed night club. She's in love with him, but her
proposal is turned down cold because he thinks she has too much money.
5. Back at hospital, Red talks Edna out of her psychiatric case of self-induced
starvation. When hospital telephone operator, Sally (Marie Blake), is
suddenly stricken at switchboard, stte insists Red perform serious operation.
STORY It was a very exclusive night club,
which meant that the headwaiter spoke
fluent French and wore a small dark
mustache that looked painted on. Just
now his head was cocked quizzically to
one side as he looked at the tall, young
man who had handed him a reservation
card: "Dr. Adams? Of course. This
way." Then with elaborate courtesy he
led young Adams down past a small
curtained alcove. A girl stepped out of
the alcove, linked her arms through
Adams', murmured, "Thank you,
Pierre," to the headwaiter and smiled
brilliantly at no one in particular.
"Hello, Red," she said.
"No," Red Adams said. "No! I fell
for it again."
"You did," she said pleasantly.
"Gillespie set you up to it?"
"He did."
"I see it all now. Gillespie harping
on the fact that I was working too
hard. That {Continued op, page 127)
PRODUCTION Dr. "Red" Adams is one
of Van's favorite people. He thor-
oughly enjoys portraying the young as-
sistant to Dr. Gillespie and confesses a
desire to really be a doctor. Millions of
motion picture fans are extremely thank-
ful that Van didn't choose medicine as a
career. Van has a certain charm on the
screen, a special talent for being the boy
next door with the banged up Ford, that
puts his feminine audience right into
the story with him. Every woman who
52
3. During evening, one of chorus girls, Edna (Gloria DeHaven) col-
lapses backstage, and Red is called in on case. Illness is serious,
and he leaves to accompany patient to hospital in ambulance.
6. After hours of touch and go with Nurse Byrd and Red keeping
vigil, Sally pulls through. When Ruth rebels at niSpUeglect, he admits
love, and she realizes hers will be the cross of a doctor's wife.
saw "Thirty Seconds Over Tokio" was
Mrs. Ted Lawson for about two hours.
Every woman who sees "Between Two
Women" will be a Dr. Adams patient
or an assisting nurse. . . . Every time a
studio films a "series" picture (a pic-
ture done with the same cast and based
on the same characters as its predeces-
sor), everyone on the lot from prop boy
to set designer fights for the chance to
help film it. Because the actors are
familiar with (Continued on page 95)
By Ida Zeitlin
■ "It's all your fault, Teddy."
June, eight years old, sat on a rock. Teddy,
one and a half, looked up at her sadly. She
couldn't stand it when Teddy looked sad at her,
so she patted the place on the rock beside her.
Next minute, the tail was going like mad, and
the little red tongue was washing her cheek.
She hugged the breath out of him. "Just the
same, you bad boy, it was your fault."
June was in disgrace.* The principal had said:
"I want to see your mother."
"She works in the city. She only comes home
for Sunday — "
So Grandma went to see the principal. "I don't
understand it," he said. "June's not a bad child,
but she's always in trouble. I'm afraid we'll
have to suspend her for a week."
When Mother came Saturday night, she said
the same thing. "I don't understand it. You're
so good with us, Juhie. Why can't you be good
at school ? "
"I am, Mummy. I was good for a long time
under the desk, but it wasn't nice there. So I
asked Teddy — "
"Qh, honey, Teddy wasn't even there — "
"I know, but I closed my eyes and saw him.
I can always see him when I close my eyes.
And I said, is it all right? and his head
went yes — " (Continued on following page)
Awl/
Life meant little things— a dog, a
hurt, a need for love. And happi-
ness always around the corner.
Af 13, she was confirmed: at 16, a featured dancer. Her big
ambition now's to be a Bergman, utilizes spare time studying
drama, singing, dancing, collecting miniature china pigs.
At 2, June weighed 30 pounds — has gained just 68
more in 20 years! She still hasn't outgrown habit of
losing things, going on 3-day Chinese food binges!
f
Junie goes on book sprees, once splurged $30. She's
holding out on buying home, wants to marry into one,
but still sends mother some earnings for rainy Jay.
She shares a passion for sailing w'tfh soon-to-be-divorced Dick
Powell. Says she, "I like him. I hate nightclubs, and with others I
always wind up there.' But we have fun!" (At Somerset House.)
After this scene in "Music For Millions" with M. O Bnen
(who insists June's "the girl I want to look like when I grow
up") June fell through sound stage, had to be sawed out.
It all happened in sewing class. June was letting
her nails grow long, and she stuck her hand out to
show them to Dorothy. The teacher said she was
passing chewing gum —
"I wasn't. I haven't even got any gum, so how could
I pass it?"
"That'll do, June. Bring your sewing and sit under
my desk till the lesson's over."
Under the desk, June sewed and sewed. She didn't
mind being punished when she was bad, but this
wasn't fair, she hadn't done anything. Just the same,
you didn't, buck up against teachers. Even at eight,
she knew that. So it never entered her head to try
to get even. She just felt so bored under that mean
old desk, and here was her needle and there was
teacher's leg —
Whenever she knew it was wrong, she'd ask Teddy.
Made things cosier that way, with someone to share
the blame. She screwed her eyes tight. "Is it all right,
Teddy?" He said yes. {Continued on page 132)
56
HER RING — an upraised center
diamond flanked by smaller dia-
monds on intricate design in gold
FRANCES K1N(J, of Poughkeepsie,
N. Y., of the old Hudson River family —
another lovely Pond's bride-to-be. Her
engagement to H. Paul Richards, of the
R.C.A.F., was announced last May
Pretty as a picture — and a complexion so
petal-clear you'd think Frances' beauty was
just happenstance.
But Frances herself says, very positively,
she keeps it that way with her faithful
Pond's devotions.
"Skin needs regular care," she declares.
"I love my daily and nightly Pond's Cold-
Creamings. They make my skin feel glorious."
. HOW FRANCES BEAUTY-CARES FOR
HER FACE WITH POND'S
First — she smooths snowy Pond's Cold Cream
all over face and throat, pats it with brisk
finger tips to help soften and release dirt and
make-up. Tissues off well.
Next — she rinses with more luscious-soft
Pond's, plying her white-tipped fingers around
nose, mouth, cheeks, forehead. Tissues off.
"This double-creaming is important" Frances
says, "makes skin extra clean, extra soft."
Use Pond's Frances' way — every morning,
every night. Daytime, too, for clean-ups.
You'll find it's no accident engaged girls like
Frances, noted society beauties, love this
soft-smooth beauty care.
Get a big jar of Pond's Cold Cream today.
You'll like being able to dip the fingers of
both your hands in the luxurious, big jar.
to a member of the
Royal Canadian Air Force
/
SHE'S A DARLING! Frances is petite, with wistful brown eyes and skin baby-soft!
"I keep it nice with Pond's Cold Cream," she says. "It's such a grand cream!"
■
MAKE-UP
A totally new complexion for you — Instantly .
and wonderful protection for your skin!
Out of a dream world into yours . . .
the complexion you've hoped for . . . now you
can have it. This important new version
of cake make-up covers your skin with a flattering
veil of cloud silk to produce a lasting
illusion of complete flawlessness. But more!
Chen Yu "Cloud silk" is highly protective too.
It guards your skin . . . helps it to stay lovely for the
years ahead. Choose from nine new shades!
■ e
ASSOCIATED DISTRIBUTORS. INC. CA.C.«» a*A N.w Yor
COMFORT is your ticket in this
grey flannel and plaid suit from Louis Geiger.
Why look like a frump when
the doorbell catches
you housemaiding? Take the
blight off the chore-
bore by looking cute about it!
CASUAL Shire-Tex slacks by Davenshire with
baby soft Tish-U-Knit sweater. Scarf bv Kimball.
CLASSIC gabardine suit by Duchess
Royal in melting colors. Blouse by Alice Stuart.
By Jean Kinkead and Ann Ward
60
■ Ever stop to think what a fine line there so
often is between work and play? F'rinstance, we
die every time we have to get down on our knees
and scrub a floor, but we think it's mad, mad fun
to break our back and our fingernails over a
bowling alley. In muscular output, there's not
much difference, but it's the spirit of the thing.
Now, we have a theory that if people dressed up
to work, corralled a chum or two in for moral
support, sweeping a rug could be almost as much
fun as cutting one.
Lookit. Instead of pushing a vacuum cleaner
around wearing some moth-eaten horror and hat-
ing every minute of it, do yourself up fancy in a
pair of good-looking slacks and a sweater. Com-
fortable, functional and — this is important when
the doorbell rings; — ever so eye-catching. Same
outfit makes cramming for tests practically gay
stuff. Makes running errands for your ma high
adventure. And naturally, it's 20-20 for leisure
pursuits like biking and biking and just plain
loafing. Best buys we've found are the all-wool
gabardine slacks shown on these pages made by
Davenshire, who designed the pants Merle Oberon
wears in "A Song to Remember." They come in
every color and can be had for less than you'd
pay for a new hat. The lush classic slipover is a
Tish-U-Knit. Expensive-looking as a Bermuda
hand-knit, priced for gals on a budget. Colors
to drool over.
Twist this wonderful looking, cojorful square
(comes in the new stole scarf, too) around your
hair for neatness with a shot of glamour. They
cost so little you'll want to keep a couple on tap.
Swell for bridge prizes; sweet little gifts for
cherished buddies.
Your man's on leave! You want to ring bells
and let the dishes pile sky-high, and the dust like-
wise. Kind of impractical, that, but you can take
the blight off the whole chore-bore by looking
cute about it. Wouldn't {Continued on page 141)
CUTE and so easy to make! New
knee length short suit. A MODERN SCREEN PATTERN.
61
Helen Riickert, whose
husband is in the American Field Service, is shown in a charming room decorated with Bates' "Daisy" spread that also comes in grey, rose, or green.
A Colorful Room Says "Welcome Home"
There's always an inviting warmth ... a happy air in a room that
glows with color. Especially to a service man who's been living in a
dreary, monotone environment. So if you're planning ahead for the
return of your husband or son, make his home coming twice as
happy by making your home look twice as bright. It's simple to do
with Bates' bedspreads and matching draperies! These beautifully
styled ensembles eliminate all the nuisance of scurrying around to
match things up. Moreover, they cost only a few dollars and wear for
years because they're of sturdy, wrinkle-proof cotton that washes
like a dream. If you can't find Bates' spreads the first time ... try
again. We're supplying them as fast as wartime limitations permit.
BATES FABRICS INC. • 80 WORTH STREET • NEW YORK CITY 13
62
By Virginia Wilson
1
Tom -attended Jimmy Stewart's old high school, years later was
tagged "another J. S." by discoverer Joe Pasternack! A professional
song writer, his latest is "If It's Love," featured in "Janie."
DRAKE TAKES THE CAKE!
■ The road was straight, but the big Cadillac's
course was erratic. It went from one side to the
other, it went fast and then slow. A farmer in
a nearby orchard eyed its approach cynically.
"Some city drunk," he muttered, and then as
the car whizzed by, he straightened up and did
the double take of all time. The Cadillac's driver
was a boy of eleven or so, propped up on cushions
so his chin came just over the steering wheel. His
brown eyes were focused determinedly on the
road. Tom Drake was learning to drive.
Of course, it's usually considered advisable to
have an instructor along when you try it first.
There are also silly conventions about not taking
your family's car till you have a license. Tom
had ignored all this nonsense. He had equipped
himself with five — count em, five — cushions, and
waited till his father and mother and two sisters
were out of the way. Then he got in, made a
couple of the motions he had seen his father
make, and he was off. He was pleased, but not
surprised, by the ease with which this was accom-
plished. It just went to show you how much
fuss people made over {Continued on page 75)
As a boy, he sang in a New Rochelle church choir, while his speaking
voice, which can be heard in "This Man's Navy," has fust been dubbed
"sexiest in H'wood." (Entertaining nieces Christopher and Casey.)
63
Imagine, for the first time
on any screen— Donald
Duck and company
romping, singing, dancing
and especially romancing
with live and lovely
senoritas in the same
scenes! It's the kind of
"seeing-is-believing" magic
only Disney can bring you
—and wonderful !
Sixteen
New Hit Tunes
including:
"THE THREE CABALLEROS"
"YOU BELONG TO MY HEART'
"BAIA"
(by the composer of "Brazil")
(SDalt'O
Full-length Musical Fiesta in Technicolor
See Donald and
Aurora Miranda
dance the torrid
Samba-Jongo
together!
ci<j'7he T/toee Co6a£0e>iorj'
DONALD DUCK • JOE CARIOCA
Romantic Heartbreaker Jiving Jitterbird
P A N C H I T 0 Released through
Mexican Casanova
RKO RADIO PICTURES
a*tct, est, 1&etf&oA,
AURORA MIRANDA • DORA LUZ
Brazilian Songbird Mexico's Sweetheart
CARMEN MOLINA
Dancing Senorita
65
Johnny Payne and Gloria De Haven wed;
stork stop-overs for Rita Hayworth, Dana
Andrews; letter from Lon McCallister
Diana Lynn's current No. I flame is Sailor Gray Delmar, son of
Writer Vina Delmar. Diana, 18, dates Bob Walker, too, denies
plans to wed Maj. Bob Livingstone, has written piano concerto.
Back at work film-making in H'wood, with Marine
Corps medical discharge, Glenn Ford dropped into
MODERN SCREEN office to hello Sylvia, Kay.
A rare party appearance tor bob Hope, here with wife Dolores and
Jerry C. Now that Son Tony's 4 and Daughter Linda's 6, they're think-
ing of adopting an addition. Pop's Radio Hooper rating: No. I.
66
Johnny Payne and Gloria DeHaven start married life with wash-
ing mochine; his gift from Chicago radio sponsors. New home
boasts__redwood mirror bar. John's doing three pix at once.
TRe new Turner hairdo's a "Napoleonic E
have ringlets in front, a sculptured back. Untazed by ciggie
shortage, she smokes small, red pipe. (With Dick Haymes.)
■ They say men fall in love with the same type each
time. Do you believe it?
At least, John Payne ran true to form — for his new mate,
Gloria De Haven, is certainly like his ex-wife, Anne Shirley.
The girls have the same ingenue charm, lovely figures,
and I think they look alike.
I got a kick out of being the first to announce the official
engagement of John and Gloria on the air. They are so
frank about being in love it is refreshing.
"Yes," Gloria told me when I asked her if she and
young Payne were planning to be married, "it's true.
We will set the date just as soon as we both get a breather
from our studios." And of course, as you know, they didn't
even wait for that.
What a relief from some of the stars who hedge and
stumble and say, "Perhaps I had better not say anything
until I have informed my studio"— ^etc, etc, etc!
* * *
I hate to argue with the ladies of . my own profession,
but I just can't see how they hit on Sonja Henie and Walter
Pidgeon as last year's "least cooperative" stars.
First off — Sonja doesn't spend much time in Hollywood
— so it's hard to see (Continued on following page)
67
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Me iron those sheets? I simply won't!
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Before I'll beauty-treat their wrinkles!"
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'a fine, speedy starch who makes washday a fun day!
'We'll whizz through our work
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Sad Iron, now happy, says,
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60 seconds with Linit makes
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LIGHTENS 1AUNORY IABOR
At all grocers
GOOD NEWS Continued
how she could have annoyed the Hollywood
Women's Press Club to the point where she
was handed the booby prize. Personally, I've
always found her very helpful and willing to
cooperate.
As for Walter! Well, anyway, he is getting
a lot of laughs out of it. He now calls himself
"the Non-Coop Pidgeon."
Betty Hutton and Alan Ladd won the honors
for being the "nicest" stars of the year.
• • *
Frankie Sinatra got back to Hollywood with
a terrible cold in his "head." He could barely
talk. But that didn't keep him from wanting
to hear some good records, so he called up his
favorite shop.
"This is Frank Sin'ata," he said the best
he could with his sniffles.
"Sonata?" said the voice at the other end.
"Sin'ata," repeated Frank doggedly.
"Which Sonata?" demanded the voice
peevishly. "'Sonata in A-Minor'?"
"No," snapped Frankie crossly, " 'Sin'ata in
A-Chill'!"
"Sorry," said the voice, "we don't have that
number."
So Frankie listened to the radio instead.
• * *
Rita Hayworth has named her baby Re-
becca for no particular reason except that she
likes it, and it sounds "old fashioned." The
full title, of course, is Rebecca Welles.
When she gets to grade school age, don't
tell me she won't get a lot of "Rebecca-at-the-
well" ribbing from her schoolmates.
• * *
If there was ever a time when Dick Powell
wasn't "popping the question" to June Ally-
son because he thought her career was zoom-
ing ahead of his— he can forget that argument.
He not only has a new air show, but he's
out of this world as a Humphrey Bogart char-
acter in "Murder. My Sweet." He plays the
same detective Bogart plays in Raymond
Chandler's "the Big Sleep." . When Bogey
heard about it, he cracked:
"If he doesn't stop playing me, I'm going
to start crooning." .
• • *
With Deanna Durbin these days and eve-
nings it's Steve Crane. But the lady says she
ain't going to marry anybody for years and
years. Maybe Deanna's theme song is, "Don't
Fence Me In."
I've been a sick girl for a couple of months,
and at first I thought I might not feel well
enough to attend Lana Turner's nice cocktail
party. But I'm glad I went.
The real star of the party was her daughter,
Cheryl, who made a curly-headed appearance
for just about fifteen minutes. How that baby
loves her mother! She actually goos and
gurgles every time Lana comes in sight. You
can't fool a baby. Lana is an enchanting
mother, so gay and happy.
Another surprise was Turhan Bey. If you
read my newspaper column (and I hope you
68
do. you must know I've taken a few potshots
at Turhan — particularly about his pipe smok-
ing and what I felt was a slightly smug
attitude on his part. I've said far less about
other actors who get furious and look the
other way when I am around.
But not Turhan. When he saw me, he came
over immediately, spoke charmingly and said
he was sorry I had been ill.
My face was a little pink. I admit it.
* # •
It's wonderful how the war brings out the
real worth in a man.
John Shelton, husband of Kathryn Grayson,
had the reputation for being "very difficult"
when he was a Hollywood actor. Now he
has received a citation for rescuing a B-29
from an incendiary bomb.
Lt. John Howard is another boy who is
making us proud. He is wearing the Navy
Cross for extraordinary bravery when his
boat was torpedoed.
And Sabu, if you please, is a gunner in a
bomber unit in the South Pacific!
* * *
Two deaths rocked Hollywood within a
week of one another. The' first was Laird
Cregar. The second, Lupe Velez.
In many ways, perhaps Laird's was the
most tragic of the two — because, in spite of
the mental turmoil that brought on Lupe's
death, she had lived and lived fully. She had
been a bright flame that attracted much hap-
piness and laughter, fame and fortune to her-
self as well as the dross and heartache that
unfortunately overshadowed everything else
at the time of her death.
But I remember her best as a laughing girl.
A modern pagan who had loved life greatly
even though she sought her own death.
But Laird was different.
He had never really lived at all.
At 28 years of age, Laird was a young giant
who had never known life or love or mar-
riage or home or mental peace and happiness.
He joked about his great weight and size,
but it made him unhappy. That's why he
dieted so strenuously to lose 100 pounds.
He once told me, "No matter how nice
people are to me, I'm still something of an
oddity to them. And being an oddity — isn't
fun."
» * •
There was plenty of family opposition to the
marriage of cute little Gracie MacDonald and
Lieut. Ralph Green. There is something of an
"Abie's Irish Rose" angle here since the kids
are of different religious faiths. But sticking
by Gracie through thick and thin was her
brother, Ray, who is in the Air Corps.
Fact is, it was Ray's wire to his sister that
he was standing by her and that he would
bring his mother around to seeing it their way
that settled the matter for Gracie.
Now I understand Mrs. MacDonald is com-
pletely reconciled. You can understand her
side, too. She lost her husband last year
through death, then Ray married and now her
baby, Gracie.
* * *
Speaking of parental objections, I under-
stand the hitch in the John Hodiak-Anne
Baxter romance is that her mother has not
Mrs. Pier pout Morgan Hamilton
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Get the luscious BIG jar!
HOLLYWOOD STARS YOU KNOW
m
r
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Gail Russell
Co -starring in
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A Paramount Picture
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who with his brothers Perc and
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I
OF WBSTMOBE
yet given her consent.
* * *
If there ever was a Utile rough sledding
for Mickey Rooney after he went into the
Army, I hear it is all over now because of the
job he is doing overseas. He is very popular
with the G.I.'s with only a little kidding going
on now and then.
One story is that a young Lieutenant called
Rooney in one day and said, "Sit down, I
want to talk with you just like Lewis Stone!"
* * *
Ran into Gary Cooper, operating in full
capacity as the producer of his next, "Along
Came Jones," and he invited me in to see his
swanky new offices. Are they something!
There was a big grin on Coop's face as I
looked around at all the elegance— a tomato
red divan, the green chairs and the bright
lemon colored rug. "Pretty fancy," he laughed.
"I never rated anything like this being an actor."
Everything about the picture has to be
brought to Gary for iniaaling— even including
the sketches of the nightgowns Lorettp Young
will wear.
"Those are the moments," he smiled, "when
I can't understand what producers have to
gripe about."
* * *'
Such a nice letter from Lon McCallister, who
the time it was sent — was en route to St.
Louis with the "Winged Victory" company.
"I heard what you said about me in the
picture in your broadcast over the air," he
wrote, "and I am grateful and proud. But
I am sure you will understand when I say that
my Hfe is so different since I've been in the
Service— that somehow it seemed like you
might have been talking about some other fel-
low. I haven't thought of myself as cm actor
for so long it's hard to get used to the idea
again. We're heading for points East— and a
special performance for the President— but the
biggest and realest part of the job to me is
being a part, even a small part, of the Air -j
Force."
* * *
Hey, fellas! Take a tip. Betty Hutton says
the four things she can't stand in a man are:
GOSSIP: "Some of- them are ten times worse
than women!" opines la Hutton.
HOUR-BY-HOUR INQUISITIONS: "'Where
were you at lunch, at two o'clock, at cock-
tails, at six when I called, etc' That routine
drives me crazy," she says.
SPOTUGHT-HOUNDS: "Men who take you
out conspicuously just to attract the candid
camera boys."
SORRY-FOR-THEMSELVES: "These are the
worst of all. They get maudlin about why
they were turned down for the Service.^or
why they aren't getting better breaks in pic-
tures, or about how many resrxmsibilities they
have supporting old aunts or uncles. I'd say
give 'em back to the Indians— only the In-
dians wouldn't ' have 'em."
* * *
While Paulette Goddard is waiting for her
first baby, she isn't going to make another
picture.
She is spending her time completely re-
doing the new house at the Beach which she
and Buzz Meredith just bought.
"I'm doina it all myself." she told me.
"Now that we are going to have a baby and
a real home, I want to personally select
everything from the drapes to the ash trays
that come in and not be so busy that I have
to turn the fun of making a home over to
someone else."
* * »
It's a boy named Stephen Todd for the
Dana Andrews. The Todd is Mrs. Andrews'
maiden name. The Stephen is for nothing.
* * »
If you don.'t think Robert Walker has it bad
for Shirley Patterson, listen to this: He'll ac-
cept no social engagements unless she's "in-
cluded in." Of course, this doesn't go when
Bob goes to Jennifer Jones' to visit his sons.
* » *
Now that I'm not going to see you again
for another month — I'm anxious to know,
meanwhile, what you think about some of
the new young people. Particularly Tom
Drake, who comes into his own, I think, in
"Meet Me in 'St. Louis." Or Richard Crane.
Or cute little Joyce Reynolds. I'm really
interested — so drop me a note.
INFORMATION DESK
{Questions of the Month}
By Beverly Linet
Hello again:
I've just been gazing at those three
little monkeys on my desk and thinking
how lucky I am that I'm not like them.
'Cause I can see things, hear 'em and
tell 'em, too. Here are some tid-bits
right from my little black book:
FLASH.' Jane Withers is just about the
most envied girl in town with two such
stunners as Johnny Grant and Stan
McCune escorting her around. . . .
FLASH! The title of Frankie's new
pic, "Bar of Music," was formerly the
title of der Btngle's latest, "Bells of St.
Mary" . . . FLASH . . . but heck, if you
want to know more, you know the way.
Just a stamped, self-addressed en-
velope, sent to Beverly Linet, IN-
FORMATION DESK, MODERN
SCREEN, 149 Madison Avenue,
N. Y. C. 16, will do it. Make it soon?
Bestus —
Bev.
Mimi Black, Baltimore, Md.: HOW
CAN I JOIN A JUNE ALLYSON
CLUB? . . . Easy! Just drop a note
to Gwen Littleheld, 1900 Sherbourne
Dr., L. A., Calif. Dues are 75c a year,
and you get pix, snaps, club news and
everything. June and Gwen are great
friends, and ifs one of the best clubs
out.
Grace Spinella, Garfield, N. J.: MAY
I HAVE SOME INFO ON ELLIOTT
REID WHO WAS ANDY IN "DR.
WASSELL"? Edgeworth Blair Reid
was born in N. Y. C. on Jan. 16, 1920.
He has blue eyes and brown hair, is
6' 2V2", 165 lbs., unmarried, an excel-
lent mimic and in the Navy. His only
other pic was "Young Ideas." Drop
him a line at Paramount, Hollywood,
for a pic.
Ruth Sampson, Brooklyn, N. Y. . . .
WHO WAS THE SAILOR IN THE
BOWLING ALLEY SCENE OF
"SINCE YOU WENT AWAY"? That
was 23-year-old Guy Madison. He's in
the Navy now, too, and that was his
only pic. He's unmarried and can be
reached at Selznick Studios, Culver
City, Calif. ~-
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John Robert Powers is one of the
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v<ii«vnTisrei»2S''
You hove your lipstick problems? How to apply the beautifying stuff?
What color to wear? Read on . . . here all your problems are solved!
LIPSTICK
■ Judy smiled at me! When I was leaving, she held my
hand and said, "Oh, must you leave? Please stay and
let's have fun." What could a lady do in a case like
that . . . and, too, I had just caught sight of George
Murphy entering the party. True to the MODERN
SCREEN tradition in the face of parties . . . yes, I stayed !
What G.M. said to me and what I said to G.M. has
nothing to do with the story (the Beauty Department,
you know), but when Judy turned the talk to lipstick, I
whipped out a stubby pencil and quickly jotted down
some notes on the back of an envelope. Seems when
the coffee was served, some of the other femmes moaned
that the steaming hot java was ruining their lip art. But
Judy's lips were perfect. "How, how, how?" was the
question. Explained Judy, "1 always give myself a
re-take when I'm making-up my lips!"
Girls, that isn't technical studio talk. You can give
yourself a lipstick "re-take" that will keep your lips
smooth and bloomingly red no matter how much coffee
you drink or how many G.I. Joe's you enthusiastically
welcome home! Like any artiste, you begin with a clean
canvas (only your lips won't have a canvas-like texture
if you use cream every night! I . You first clean your lips
with cream and tissues because you know how caked and
unappetizing lipstick-on-stale-lipstick can become.
After the cleaning, Judy says your lips are ready for
the art work. And, again, like an artist, you wield a
brush . . . but one that has been stroked over your lip-
stick. Best thing in the world for getting a clean outline,
claims Judy, and I'm inclined to agree with her. Here's
where you can induce a bit of camouflage. Lips too
thin? Then widen the effect a bit with a flick of the
brush. Just the tiniest bit -because, you realize, the
early-Crawford watermelon-rind effect is definitely passe.
Here's another hint: Studios find that in making lips
fuller it's best to work on the upper lip and to leave
the lower one in its original state. If your problem is
loo-broad lips, then keep your coloring within the out-
side borders . . . though too-wide lips is not very often
a problem. Girls seem to like full lips . . . and bovs
seem to like them pn girls! Only thing to beware is
the watermelon-rind effect that I spoke of earlier.
Now's the time to fill in your brush-made outline with
lipstick. Then a blotting with cleansing tissue (that's
wonderful stuff isn't it? . . . good for everything from
lip make-up to jewelry polishing I . And here goes for
the "re-take." At this point Judy likes to re-apply her
lipstick. Yes, she goes through the lipsticking routine
all over again. This way her lipstick stays and stays
. . . and stays neat!
There's another trick that 1 like for making lipstick
as permanent as possible. That's to powder ray lips be-
fore the second application. Just flip a powder puff over
the first layer of lipstick, brush off the excess powder
and behold ... a smooth, mat-like surface for the second
coloring job. Incidentally, speaking of powder, if you
like a really thick-fringed effect for your eyelashes, pow-
der over the first layer of mascara and then make with
the mascara brush a second time. You'll get a terrifically
dramatic eyelash make-up, but remember this is a stricth
party-going trick. Unless your eyelashes are definitely
pale, better stick to a single mascara-ing.
To return to our lipstick. 1 know you're interested in
color, but just a minute. Judy has some extra ideas
about lipstick selction ! When you're standing before the
toilet-goods counter with your lipstick money clutched
in your hand, give a thought to the consistency of the
stick you're buying ( Continued on following page )
Quite
rhe
-7/
Sweep The
•iiinlry In Years
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Wear
IODAVS
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Precious, sterling silver ring is extra wide
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TRUE LOVE^FRIENDSHIP
NECKLACE ^BRACELET
Sentimental, sterling silver hearts are richly embossed and
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SEND NO MONEY £ar.v.
rives you pay the postman only $1.95 each for
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send the coupon today.
3
n
EMPIRE DIAMOND CO.. Dept. 4-Y, Jefferson, la.
I want to examine the precious, sterling silver heart
charm ensemble. Please send me:
Q Necklace □ Bracelet
I can return my purchase in 10 days and you will
refund my money but I am to keep the ring as your
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Name
he latest thing for afternoon
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> Address
Supplies
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- Check here if you want the ring only sent at S1-9S, CO D
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nd bracelet shown ai "I /
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TmpIrE DIAMOND CO.. Dept. 44NL, Jefferson, Iowa
f lease send me tne New, Perfume-Costume Jewelry as marked:
Necklace Bracelet Earrings
tf I order all 3 of the above I am to be given your purse size.
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Orchid
Fern Green
Name .
Address
L?'!L — . _ _Jf^ —
COLOR
Q Rose Red
□ Tulip Pink
□ Fern Green
J Forget-Me-Not Blue |
2 Daffodil Yellow .
7 Orchid J
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For Your
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Purse size, Plastic case
of exotic, solid PER-
FUME given for prompt-
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EMPIRE DIAMOND CO.
Dept. 44NL, Jefferson, Iowa
LIPSTICK
(Continued from page 73)
as well as to its color. Be sure that your
final choice is neither too dry nor too oily.
Too dry means puckered lips and caked
lipstick. Too oily means smeared and
blurred lip art. Plunk your money down
for a happy medium. And now that the
sordid subject of cash has arisen, let's
give it a thought. Money doesn't neces-
sarily mean quality. You can get a. fine
lipstick for 10c .. . and fine ones in ex-
quisite cases for lots more. You pay
your money, and you take the lipstick of
your choice. "Cases" brings to mind the
happy news that many metal cases are
now on the market. Not interfering with
the war effort, either. Uncle Sam has
flashed the "all clear" signal for them.
Color-cues are important for really super
make-up. Judy and I put our heads to-
gether and came up with this beauty
dope-sheet. The wisest system: Let the
basic tones of your own skin give you an
unerring guide to color-right lipstick. Your
skin has underlying tones of ivory, cream,
gold, tan or brown? Then invest in hp-
stick of the clear red or orange-red range.
Could be your underlying skin tones are
blue, white, pink or one of the florid fam-
ily' You'll look best in one of the blue-
red lip rouges. If you're an unswerving
neutral as to skin, hair and eyes, true
red-reds will bring out hidden high-lighte!
It's a good idea to collect a lipstick ward-
robe for yourself in your own particular
color range. (Judy has a famous lipstick
collection.) Fr'example, if you're strictly a
red or orange-red lipstick type, have lip-
sticks in light and dark orange-red. Comes
the day you're wearing black, you reach
for the dark lipstick. Comes the evening
you're wearing a floral print, you choose
the lighter one. Speaking of light prints
you know that Spring is on its way. Don t
be one of those goons who keep buying
the same Wintry shade over and over. A
seasonal make-up, that's for you!
Seasonal . . . and cooperative. You
simply shudder at the thought of cerise
lips with orange-tinted cheeks. Or at
least I hope you do! Remember to team
rouge and lipstick.
Now for a touchy subject . . . but being
brave I'll plunge right into it. Nearly
every mail brings a note from one ot the
younger generation. "Miss Carter, how
old must I be to wear lipstick? My
mother's a bit strict on the subject I
don't say the younger, the better. But
lipstick is now a universally accepted
make-up. When the rest of the gang
begins, would seem to be the right time.
Usually this is about the age of fourteen,
but could be a bit later And of course
vou'll start out with a lighter-hued hpsti
just to prove to Mother that you re*l
know what you're about!
As I say, lipstick is among the ac-
cepted " No one now tries to pretend that
their hps naturally bloom such a brilliant
red Wear lipstick gaily, proudly, beauti-
fully. And it helps lots if your hps are
often curved in a happy smile. Juay
Garland's pert grin is a fine example.
* * *
You want to know about a definite lip-
stick? You're hankering for some extra
beauty dope about skin care hair-do s
naure- fitting? Drop me a note, the answer
35 pop up" in your mail almost immedi-
ately But, pretty please do write > your
own return address distinctly Nearly
breaks my heart when I have to Uave a
friendly letter unanswered. Carol Carter,
Modern Screen, 149 Madison Avenue, N<
York 16. N. Y.
Rose Red
rter,
Veu>
DRAKE TAKES THE CAKE !
(Continued from page 63)
nothing. He waved airily to the gaping
farmer as he went by.
But pride goeth before a fall, and five
minutes later Tom pressed the wrong pedal
or something.. He wasn't sure just what
he did, but anyway the engine gave a
couple of tired coughs and expired. Tom
pushed the gear shift around some, stepped
on another pedal, and hurray, he was off
again! The only trouble was he was going
backward.
"Oh, well, saves turning around," Tom
observed. He was the philosophical type.
He backed along the road and waved
again at the farmer who promptly dis-
appeared into his barn in search of some
applejack to restore his shattered nerves.
There was a reception committee waiting
in the yard when Tom backed the Cadillac
along the street to his house. The com-
mittee consisted of: (item) one hysterical
mother, (item) two sisters who hissed
"Are you going to catch it!" and (item)
one father — complete with switch.
"I'll teach you to run off with the car
and scare your mother half to dearth!" Pop
thundered. "You must be crazy."
"Yes, sir," said Tom obediently. He didn't
think he was crazy. It was just that he
always got caught. Other people got away
with murder, but Tom never got away
with anything. At school, the other kids
could throw spitballs by the hour, and the
teacher never looked up. But let " Tom
throw just one and the teacher whipped
around and said, "You stay after school
tonight!"
putting on the eye . . .
Of course if it was one particular teacher,
Tom knew how to deal with the situation.
This man was the nervous type, and after
he'd say "Stay after school," Tom would
go to work on him. The kid would sit there
staring with an unwavering, nerve-shat-
tering gaze, until the teacher would begin
to fidget.
"Alderdyce, get to work!" (Tom was
born Alfred Alderdyce, you know.)
- "Yes, sir." But the Alderdyce eyes would
go on staring hauntingly for the rest of
the period. By the time the last bell rang,
the poor man had the leaping meemies
and couldn't get rid of Tom fast enough.
Life was a lot of fun in those days. Still
is, for Tom's the type that gets fun out of
things. He wasn't any problem child, but
he did get into a lot of mischief. The
trouble was that the fascinating things
were always the ones that parents frowned
upon. Like the time in the dead of winter
when Tom and his sisters stumbled across
the concrete foundation of a half-finished
house. It was full of dirty water.
"Hey, get a load of this!" Tom cried
exultantly. "Our own private swimming
pool, just like the movie stars in Holly-
wood!"
"You can't swim in winter time," one
of his sisters informed him.
"Who can't? I can, too. Girls are sissies.
Boys aren't." And swim he did, in the
dirty, icy water, puffing and blowing like
a porpoise and having a wonderful time.
He made it look so enticing that his sisters
jumped in, too, and the whole lot of them
eventually arrived home, dripping, shiv-
ering and looking like walking invitations
to double pneumonia. But they all sur-
vived, in fact, didn't even get the sniffles,
and their parents were so relieved that no
punishment was forthcoming.
Tom's father was a linen merchant in
New York, and the family lived in a house
in Westchester County. Tom went to the
Iona school in New Rochelle and played
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hookey almost more than he went to
classes. The attraction was the shows on
Broadway and the movies. Sometimes he
used to go to six movies a day! Not be-
cause he was thinking of becoming an
actor, but because he just liked them. He
used to get feeling romantic about some
pretty girl in High School, and he would
look at the movie and the face of Joan
Crawford or Claudette Colbert would sort
of dissolve into his girl's face. It was
wonderful.
Leave us face it, Tom was known as
something of a wolf in High School. Not
because he dated so many different girls,
but because he would "go ^steady" with
one for a while, and then switch to an-
other, then another.
"I wouldn't fall for you. You're too
much of a philanderer," one girl told him.
Tom looked up philanderer in the dic-
tionary and was righteously indignant.
"Listen," he said, "I'm the faithful type.
I never even took at anyone else when I'm
going with one girl. Of course after she
and I break up, I get another girl, but
that's not philandering.'"
"You'll do till a philanderer comes
along," said the girl acidly. Women were
so darned unreasonable!
golden rule days . . .
About this time Tom was sent to Mer-
cersburg Academy in Pennsylvania. It was
a fine school, and it sort of specialized in
athletes. Tom had, up till then, been
quite a scrapper. He used to average at
least one fist fight a day. Not because he
had a bad temper — his disposition is really
out of this world — but because he got a
kick out of fighting. When he got to
Mercersburg, this came to a sudden halt.
Practically every other guy in school was
six feet tall and weighed a couple of
hundred pounds. Tom weighed ninety-
eight. No one would fight "the shrimp,"
and it was probably just as well they
didn't, or Hollywood would be minus one
of its brighter new luminaries. He made
the swimming team, however, and used up
his excess energy that way.
Tom smoked a pipe, at this point, and
one night that led to his most embarrass-
ing moment. He was in a room with the
entire football squad, all of whom were
in training and not supposed to smoke.
Tom, puffing happily away on his pipe,
aroused their envy.
They said, "Hey, fella, give us a drag on
the old brier." They said, "Don't be a
louse — we're human even if we do play
football."
"Now listen, you guys, I don't want to
get in any trouble — "
"Oh, so you're afraid!"
Well, that did it. Tom's pipe was passed
around as solemnly as the pipe of peace
at an Indian ceremonial. Until in walked
the coach!
It wouldn't have been so bad if he had
been really nasty to Tom. But he wasn't.
He just said how things like that could
prove whether a boy was loyal to the
school or not, whether he was a real guy
or just a phony. And as he talked along
quietly, Tom's ego deflated and deflated till
he could have crawled under a rug with
a top hat on. Well, it just proved what
Tom always contended — he never got away
with anything!
After graduation came the problem of
a career. Tom had a girl friend — as usual
— and the girl friend had an idea.
"You know, darling," she said thought-
fully one evening, raising her head from
Tom's shoulder so she could look in his
face, "you're awfully handsome."
"That routine will probably get you
places, sugar," Tom said, "but not with me.
I know how I look."
"No, be sensible. You are handsome, and
you have a wonderful personality. I mean,
TOO LITTLE AND TOO LATE
That's how some of the boys are
getting their mail, and it just isn't fair!
Sure, you're busy and tired and wor-
ried and tense, and the idea of sitting
down and writing a long letter gets
you down. Well, how do you think
your G.I. feels? Gay?
And supposing you do dash, off a
3-page Valentine greeting, chances are
your Joe'll receive it come next July
4th. So hie of to your corner store or
five-and-ten and buy a dime's worth
of V-mail, or pick up a free batch at
ye locale poste office — but get some.
Mebbe you won't be writing such
lengthy epistles, but think of how
many more you can get done! And
p.s.: Seein' as how you won't be tired
when you write your snappy V-Mail,
maybe, perhaps you'll let up on the
woes? Betcha our fellas are every bit
as uncomfortable as we are — so what
say we don't keep reminding them, eh?
everybody's crazy about you.^So why don't
you be an actor?"
"An actor!" Tom laughed. "Listen, baby,
that's very funny. I tried out for a play
once at school because I thought it would
get me out of studying. I was terrible.
They wouldn't even give me a walk-on."
"I still think you should be an actor." A
stubborn wench, this one, for which Tom
now thanks his lucky stars. She finally
talked him into trying for a part in sum-
mer stock at Poughkeepsie. To his open-
mouthed astonishment, he was accepted.
After that he went to New York and
studied for three years under Alice B.
Young, playing stock in the summer. He
loved it He was doing juveniles mostly,
but he did get a couple of good character
parts— Albert in "Ladies In Retirement"
and Danny in "Night Must Fall,"
Then he got his big break. He ^ was
offered the juvenile lead in "Janie." It
turned out to be more complicated than
you might think. For one thing, he was
scared half out of his wits. For another,
he had no chance to rehearse with the
cast onstage. The only practice he had was
reciting his lines in a little back room with
the director. So his entrances and exits
were a complete mystery to him. When his
cue came, the stage manager pushed him
on and told him which door to make for
after his last on-stage line. Somehow he
got in and out the right places at the right
time, and somehow he was a hit! Metro-
Goldwyn-Mayer tested him, and before
Tom could get that surprised look off his
face, he was in Hollywood.
Things happened fast from the minute
he got off the train. He arrived on Monday,
was tested for a leading role in "Two Girls
And A Sailor" on Tuesday, and Wednes-
day he was given the part of a young
American soldier in "The White Cliffs of
Dover." Then came "Meet Me In St. Louis.
He is now making "This Man's Navy."
Of course, he's nuts about Hollywood.
He had been there before, and he knew
flocks of people. His first date there was
with Frances Rafferty. Gloria De Haven
introduced them. Now he plays the field.
His best friends are the Jack Haleys and
Mr. and Mrs. Peter Cookson. Tom's favor-
ite spot is the House of Murphy.
He's a take-it-easy kind of guy. Hates
routine and having to plan things ahead.
Maybe he's got something there. Maybe
if you just go along doing your job and
having fun on the side, you get just as
far as if you knock yourself out planning
and worrying. Anyway, it seems to work
for Tom, because there isn't a happier
actor in all of Hollywood!
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(Continued jrom page 46)
comfort than her own; who has deeded her
big Bel-Air home with all its prized col-
lection of antiques, lock, stock and barrel,
to the lady who stuck by her over the
early rough spots of her career.
There's the Betty Grable, too, who took
on the toughest USO Army camp circuit
she could find — down in the remote hills
of the Carolinas — and risked wrecking her
famous legs hoofing encore after encore in
the rain on bumpy plank stages in high
heels and long evening gown so the glam-
our-starved GFs could have fun. There's
a Grable who still holds the Hollywood
Canteen record for jitterbugging with 300
rugged cut-in dance partners in one hectic
hour; the Grable who dragged home after
her first Canteen night with her formal
in shreds, her shoes busted, the knees out
of her best nylons and her hair looking
like something the cat had got hold of and
startled her mother by sighing, "Gee —
did I have fun!"
There are a double dozen different Betty
Grables you'd never know in a million
years if all you cared to hear about was
lovely legs. The Betty, par exemple, who
has personally plugged three of her un-
known studio pals into picture parts and
contracts. The Betty who stands up
staunchly for the little guys and gals who
work on her sets and never forgets a
round of gifts when the picture closes. The
Grable who prefers home to any night
club ever built, Pepsis to the best giggle
water ever brewed and her husband's
musician friends to Hollywood "Society."
You must climb Coldwater Canyon above
Beverly Hills to catch Betty Grable with-
out her make-up in the place she prefers
to any spot in the world — home. That's an
unpretentious English cottage, beamed and
gabled and snugly tucked in a three-acre
grove of avocado and lemon trees. Inside
it's wood paneled, cozy with chintzy chairs,
copper on the hearth and antiques scat-
tered around.
dream for sale . . .
She went to a party there, years ago,
came home and raved to her mother about
the perfect house she'd visited. "Some
day," said Betty, "I'm going to own one
just like it!" Later on, Bert Lahr, her pal
of "Du Barry Was A Lady," bought the
place, and often Betty dropped by to see
Bert and his wife Mildred. Last year when
the whirlwind romance and marriage with
Harry James posed a housing problem,
Harry had rented a huge Beverly Hills
mansion to shelter all the members of his
band, so for a while the newlyweds rattled
around there. Then they moved over to
Mama Grable's, but independent Harry was
touchy about that. He thought people
would say he was "Mr. Grable" who'd
moved in on Movie Star Betty, so house-
hunting was in order. When the very
first house a real estate agent took them
to see was Betty's long cherished ideal,
she thought that must be an omen straight
from heaven for happiness. She wasn't
just dreaming, either.
Because today the very best times of
Betty Grable's life take place right there —
with her husband, Harry, a certain Miss
Victoria Elizabeth Grable and her family
and friends. The first improvement Betty
made in her new home was to fix up a
cozy, up-to-date nursery for Vicki. The
first party she had was an open house for
the members of Harry's band. Her first
house guest was her mother.
Betty's idea of a grand evening of fire-
side fun is to have the orchestra gang in
for a session of poker. She has always
been crazy about cards and as lucky as a
rusty horseshoe. Most evenings when she
and Harry are home alone, they buck
horns at gin-rummy late into the night
(almost always Betty takes Harry to the
cleaners, too). But her real love is the
grand old American game of bluff 'em
and bet 'em. She's good, too, because she's
an old hand at it.
The best Grable poker story I know
happened the day Vicki was born.
Baby Victoria was impatient about ar-
riving in this world, you know, and her
premature debut was a surprise to Betty
as well as the doctor. So, the night before
the event, Betty and Harry had a gang
from the band in for the evening with a
couple of red hot poker games going, and
it was 4 A.M. before they broke it up.
That's when Betty began to feel a little
queer, and next morning the verdict was
an ambulance and the hospital immedi-
ately.
After it was all over later on that night,
Betty's mother tip-toed into her famous
daughter's hospital room where Betty was
just emerging from the fumes of the an-
esthetic and woozily out of this world.
Betty recognized her through the mist.
"Hello, Mother," she mumbled. "S-h-h-h
— I've got four kings!"
When they kidded her about it after-
wards, Betty decided that was another
omen. From then on she has bet the limit
whenever four kings showed up.
Since her marriage, Betty's best friends
are the members of Harry James' band
and their wives. She fits like a glove right
into the musical set, because at heart
Betty's one of them. She can even qualify
as an old instrument gal herself. When
she was toddling around in St. Louis, aged
six, Betty spied a lovely brass saxophone
in a music store window one day and didn't
stop howling until her folks bought it for
her. It was a big alto sax, taller than Betty
herself, but she got pretty hot on it for
a moppet and even bleated on the stage
and over the radio.
Upstairs in one of the dressing rooms off
their boudoir suite, Harry has a huge
music machine and stacks of records miles
high (he gets complimentary platters from
all the disc firms). Usually the changer is
working overtime, just as Betty's radio in
her car is always kept warm with some
dance band wherever she goes.
melody lane . . .
You can spot the musical motif all
through Betty's house. She dug up a
beautiful old chased cornet (yep, that's
what they used to call them before they
were trumpets) in a Hollywood swap shop
a while back. It probably would never
rally to Harry's red hot modern triple-
tongue tremolos, but Betty had other ideas
anyway. She had it made into a lamp for
the den and surprised Harry with it when
he came home from his last trip. When
you pick up a book match at Betty's, too,
you find a picture of a neat calf kicking
over a hot trumpet and the legend, "A high
kick — a hot lick," running up and down
a musical score. Her favorite jewelry
doo-dad is a gold pin, an exact replica in
miniature of Harry's famous trumpet.
Betty wrote Santa for it last Christmas, and
— surprise! — she found it on her tree.
In fact, Betty's so wrapped up in Harry's
musical career that for a while after they
were married, she planned spending all her
studio layoffs traveling with his band. She
tried that out on her first vacation — but it •
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io a friend
Among your friends one or two may
still have vague ideas or wrong ideas
about Tampax. You will be doing them
a kindness by explaining the real facts
about this internal method of monthly
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BEGIN BY TELLING your friend how Tam-
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ALSO EXPLAIN how Tampax can cause
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SEND HER OUT TO BUY Tampax at a
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I didn't work. Betty discovered (she might
have known) that she was far too famous
a person herself to have any rest or re-
laxation. It turned out to be a personal
appearance tour of Betty Grable, because
of course, the newspapers discovered her
pronto wherever Harry went, and when
she pleaded that she was just traveling
incognito as Harry James' wife — well — you
know how that went over.
"Are you kidding?" they scoffed.
Even in Manhattan, Grable didn't dare
appear at the Waldorf where Harry
trumpeted for fear of causing a riot. She
had to crouch in the wings to watch the
band work and blow kisses at Harry from
afar. After that, she gave up the idea. Now
Harry 'phones every night when he plays
his last number, wherever he is, and Betty
hops out of bed in the middle of the night
to report on home and Vicki. If she wants
to hear Hot Lips Harry give out with his
latest melody, she has to play his records,
sneak in with the band when he has a
Hollywood Palladium engagement. Be-
cause he won't play around the house.
closed shop . . .
When Harry and Betty were married,
they made a pact about that, and they've
stuck to it sternly ever since. "At home,
Baby," suggested Harry, "we won't ever
talk business, what do you say?"
"I say fine," agreed Betty. "I don't like
studio chatter or Hollywood gossip."
"And how I hate musician talk and
music gossip!" sighed Harry. "Is it a deal?"
"Okay," confirmed Betty, "and the first
one who breaks it has to cook dinner on
the maid's night out."
Betty may hug her home, but that's no
sign she's domestic. She summed up her
kitchen craft like this, "I can make pretty
good toast — if the toaster's automatic!" She
can barely sew on a button, either. As
much as Bets adores to play with Vicki and
feed her, she's nervous as a witch unless
the nursemaid prepares the formula. Truth
is, Betty just doesn't know anything about
these things and doesn't trust herself.
This domestic helplessness has an ex-
planation. Betty's no moron, but during
the years most girls learn all those things,
she was out singing and dancing, making
movies, traveling all over the land work-
ing like the trouper she is and getting
along in show business. She toured in-
cessantly with her mother, who took care
of what housework— like getting breakfast
— had to be done and guided all Betty's
thoughts, talents and energies to her
career. Betty's older sister, Marjorie (Mrs.
David Arnold), on the other hand, who's
married to a businessman and has led a
domestic life completely apart from show
business, is a swell cook and housekeeper.
It's not an acute problem at the James
house, however. Betty's mother is around
a lot (she's still very close to Betty) to
see that things tick off all right, and when
maid's night out rolls round, Harry and
Betty simply eat out.
Betty likes good food, but maybe be-
cause she can't prepare it, she's not a
fussy gourmet. She'll eat anything in the
world but liver or bananas. She has a
typical diner-out's preference for steaks
and rich pastries. She keeps a necklace of
her favorite doughnuts, "raised-glazed,"
strung across her dressing room mirror to
munch between takes. But she never gets
fat, even though she pooh-poohs any atten-
tion whatever to figure care or exercise.
She's just lucky that way. Betty never has
played tennis or golf. She used to ride
horseback a little, but when her sister,
Marjorie, had a bad riding accident, Betty
even stopped that. She spends her spare
hours lying beside her tiny pool back of
the house, but hardly ever takes even a
dip. She sops up a swell tan, by the way,
never blisters or peels — in spite of her
pure peaches and cream complexion. Alter
Betty had been in the hospital several
weeks with Vicki's emergency Caesarian
arrival, she recuperated lying in the sun
beside her pool for hours and never even
turned pink.
Betty's famous figure, incidentally, hasn't
varied a fraction of an inch in any depart-
ment since motherhood. Yet she hasn't
had a massage or body beauty treatment
of any kind. All her old clothes still fit
perfectly. The only things she's had to
turn over to the Red Cross are the ma-
ternity numbers she bought, the butcher-
boy outfits and such. Betty's relaxed about
her looks. But she adores yummy clothes
and has closets packed with them, es-
pecially shoes. She's had a weakness for
fancy footgear ever since she was a kid.
Once when Betty was only ten, a friend
of the Grables' came back from Europe
and toted along presents for both the
Grable girls. Betty got a bottle of Parisian
perfume, and her sister, Marjorie, drew a
pair of French-heeled red snazz slippers.
In no time at all Betty had worked a deal
with her sister, trading the scent for the
glamour dogs. They were living in a St.
Louis hotel then, and promptly Betty
squeezed into the extreme shoes — her first
stilt-heeled pair — and paraded through the
lobby. But she wobbled so badly that her
ankle gave way and — boom — she stayed in
bed for a week with two sprained joints.
She has flocks of formals, too, lovely
dresses of all types, coats, furpieces —
everything. Mostly they just hang in the
closet, tantalizing moths, because the only
time in the world Betty ever gets gussied
up is when she goes out at night, a blue-
moon deal these days. Around the house
APRIL JEWEL
That's the next issue of Modern
Screen — glittering, sparkling,
chock-full of rare value.
So off you go March 13 to
pick up your precious copy —
and beware the crowds!
she's strictly a slack girl, and the piles of
these trousers, all smartly tailored and
usually in pastel shades, clutter up her
dresser drawers. Her favorite coat is a
camel's-hair wrap-around, worn campus
style, no hat, no stockings. She likes ex-
pensive jewelry, and that's the kind she
has, lots of it in novel designs (like Harry's
gold trumpet pin) . Betty's strictly feminine
in her personal fix-up, tastes and habits.
She sleeps in slinky silk night gowns, loves
perfume cologne, powder and scented tub
baths. She's got a bad weakness for trick
hairdo's (Harry hates 'em) although her
studio hairdresser, Marie Brasselle, has to
do all the work. She likes flowers in her |
hair, and even when she's slacking around
the house, there's always a gay ribbon
somewhere. Betty's hair is not naturally J
platinum like she wears it. It's more
of an ash blonde, even darker. But she's
never questioned her studio's decree that
she keep it lily-white. It's naturally curly,
by the way, but to Betty that's a bother;
she has to keep it straightened out for her
period picture hairdo's.
Betty has always adored doing Gay
Ninety and period musical movies, because
she loves the frilly furbelows, the hour-
glass gowns, the bustles, pompadours, ele-
gant bonnets and such in pictures like
"Sweet Rosie O'Grady" and "Coney
Island." (Her favorite picture of all is
"Sweet Rosie".) In fact, Grable's loaded
with all kinds of ladylike longings—
(Continued on page 82)
1
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81
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craves candy, loves antiques (she had a
beautiful collection in her old house which
she gave to her mother) , likes to sleep late,
changes her mind frequently, smokes ciga-
rettes with two puffs and tosses them away.
(Thank goodness Harry works for Chester-
field!). Betty also goes for romantic books
(Right now she's deep in "Forever Amber,"
wistfully sighing that she'd love to play
Amber) and likes reading them in bed.
She has no idea of cash money values.
She took her mother out for dinner on her
birthday last year and had to borrow
twenty bucks from Mrs. Grable to pay the
check when she found her own bag bare.
And the next day she strolled into a West-
wood Village book store and handed them
a $100 bill for a $2 book!
But at heart Betty's a man's girl. No
doubt about it. She's happiest when she's
with men and she adapts herself readily
and happily to their tastes and wishes.
Betty has stopped wearing make-up of
any kind around home, for instance, be-
cause Harry doesn't like it. She used to
adore pompadours, rats and fancy hair-
do's, but she threw all the transformations
in the wastebasket when Harry allowed
he admired her locks best hanging free in
the breeze. She found out quickly what
Sir Harry's favorite perfume was, and now
she uses nothing else but. Even when her
head man's away Betty clings to the things
he likes. She seldom drives her big Cadil-
lac convertible when Harry's on tour. In-
stead she herds Harry's station wagon
around, with the name, "Bay-Bee," em-
blazoned on the outside (that's what he
calls her, with the accent on the Bee),
with his favorite French poodle "Punkin,"
perched in the front seat.
ego-booster . . .
I don't mean that Grable is any clinging
vine — not by a long shot. But she's got a
blessed streak of one-man girl backer-up
femininity in her (it's a mighty lucky
thing for a girl to have, the best booster
in the world to a gent's ego) which always
pays off in romantic harmony. When Betty
and Jackie Coogan were married, Betty
did everything possible to help "the Kid"
make a comeback on his career, which is
what he wanted most then.
Betty went with George Raft, too, for
three years without one date with another
man. George, of course, is a sports nut,
so Betty tagged along to all the prize
fights, horse races, baseball and football
games — everything that George liked best.
She still lugs around a sports interest
hangover from those days, especially in big
league baseball. Last fall, when Betty's
two home town teams, the St. Louis Cards
and the Browns, tangled in a World Series
at Sportsman's Park, Betty cancelled all
dates to sit glued to her radio every after-
noon.
It follows that Betty's not the nagging
type to make over or reform a man. What-
ever Harry does is okay with her, right
down the line. They've never had even a
spat in a couple of years of married life.
Only time Betty even faintly suggested a
change in one of her beaux, it ended up
comically to be a joke on her — maybe be-
cause she picked a comic guy to pick on.
Before she was married, Betty had a few
dates with funny man Phil Silvers. The
first time she went out with Phil, Betty told
him, "Phil, I think you'd look a lot better
without your glasses. Why don't you take
them off?" She knew pronto that she
should never have stuck her neck out. Be-
cause the next time Phil called, he came
tapping along with a white cane behind a
Seeing-Eye dog! That was his way of tell-
ing Betty he wore glasses because he
needed 'em.
So it's no accident, maybe, that Betty's
staunchest army of fans are men. Of all
the 90,000 letters that pour in on her every
months, the greatest number by far comes
from admiring males (most gal stars draw
the majority of their mail from other girls)
and, of course, Betty's still the GI's Holly-
wood super dream girl by miles. She'd be
the last to deny that a lot of her fervent
service loyalty stems right from her own
divine stems. Betty's not bashful that way,
either. When she made her barnstorming
Carolina camp tour a couple of years ago,
Betty fought with the USO powers to wear
a short, sketchy dancing dress that ex-
posed plenty of scenery for her opening
show. But there was a rule and regulation
about that, it seemed — all entertainers had
to wear long dresses or get shot at sun-
rise or something. So Betty dolled up in
the slinkiest formal she could dig out of
her trunk, put on French heels and darned
near killed herself trying to off-to-Buffalo
on a routine in that wrap-up.
But there's another side to Betty's appeal
for the soldier boys — the good sport, sim-
patico side that every Yank seems to read
in Betty's face, and which I've a hunch is
just as important an item as "cheesecake"
to a lonely GI who remembers the good
sport girls back home.
On that same camp tour, Betty picked up
a paper one day and read an item like
this, "GI's picket Betty Grable." She read
on to discover that a little out-of-the-way
camp was sore as a boiled owl because
they'd been by-passed by Betty's glamour
tour. So they'd paraded up and down the
barracks with signs, "Betty Grable is Un-
fair to Camp So-and-So." That got
Grable. She put in long distance calls to
Washington and shot wires to Hollywood
asking permission to straighten things out.
The answer was that there weren't any
facilities there for a show, and it was too
remote and just too bad. But that didn't
satisfy Bets. She kept plugging until the
USO trip routers let her skip over to the
camp and scatter those pickets personally.
That's what Grable thinks of GI's, and
here's an example of what they think of
her. A year or so ago, a salty Guadalcanal
Marine got in touch with her through the
Hollywood Canteen where she and Harry
James were still entertaining the guys.
(Incidentally, that's where their romance
really got started, you'll remember if you
read our story about them in the October,
1943, issue of Modern Screen.) This leather-
neck said he had something he wanted to
give Betty. It turned out to be a picture
of her — not a pin-up picture — just a mod-
est portrait. It was creased and dirty, and
through the center was a bullet hole
rimmed with dark stains. "My Bud," ex-
plained the Marine. "He always carried
this one right over his heart — and when
they got him, that's where they got him."
Betty hauled him right up home with
her to dinner with her mother in their
Bel-Air house where she lived then. And
if you think Grable doesn't shed tears, you
should have seen her dissolve that eve-
ning. Duty took that particular Marine
through Hollywood four separate times,
and each time he called Betty, and each
time she had him up to the house. When
he shipped out again, he wrote her once
a month regularly, from wherever combat
action took him, for over a year. She
hasn't heard from him for several months
now, and knowing what a pal he was,
Betty is afraid to think why.
Yep, there are plenty of sentimental tie-
ups Betty has with the boys that aren't
all hey-hey and pin-up glamour. In fact,
most of her intimate contacts with soldiers
have been much more on the heartbreak
side. There's the boy in England, for in-
stance, who wrote her just the other day.
He'd lost his eyes in action, and what he
wrote was this: "I guess I won't ever be
seeing you again, Betty, and that's not so
good. But the last picture I saw you in
(Continued on page 84)
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was 'Coney Island,' and I'll always re-
member you like you were in that. I just
wish I could hear you sing again." When
Betty got that one, she went right over to
the recording studio and sang two numbers
especially for that blind hero. "Cuddle Up
a Little Closer" and "Put Your Arms
Around Me" — his favorites.
one little, two little, three little vickies . . .
Betty's marriage and motherhood hasn't
dimmed her popularity or appeal to the
Army and Navy one bit, I'm glad to say.
When Vicki's birth was announced, she
got herself swamped with baby gifts from
every outpost where Old Glory was flying.
One Fortress crew in England who'd
christened their ship "The Blonde Bomber"
and painted Betty's picture life-size on the
fuselage, started painting tiny crawling
babies for every mission they'd accom-
plished! There were twelve little Vickies
on it when Nazi flak finally winged it.
Betty gets along well with other girls,
as she does with everybody, but she has
no real close girl friends. She'd be lost in
a "hen party." She's not gossipy or catty
or jealous at all, although it does seem
that whenever she is halfway friendly to
another star, some Hollywood gremlin gets
busy and cooks up a phony feud or rival
story, which makes Betty miserable. Next
to her mother and sister, Marjorie, Betty's
as friendly with Alice Faye as anyone.
When Harry's in town, the Jameses see a
lot of Phil and Alice, and now that both
couples are family folks they have a lot
to talk about besides orchestras and acting.
Alice, who expected her baby the same
time Betty did, had a date to drop by and
see Betty and talk stork stuff the day she
was carried off to the hospital, and the
last worried request Betty made before
she went under the ether was for Mrs.
Grable to call and explain to Alice why
she had to stand her up.
But because they're on the same lot and
both sing — even though Alice doesn't want
to any more — every time a musical role
comes up, newspapers revive a tired old
"feud" story. It seems a couple of the
parts that brought Betty fame, "Down
Argentine Way" and "Tin Pan Alley,"
were originally scheduled for Faye, who
got ill and couldn't handle 'em.
The same catty bit of ballyhoo hap-
pened in reverse recently when Vivian
Blaine, a newcomer at Fox, got her Cin-
derella break in two pictures ordered first
for Betty — "Greenwich Village" and
"Something For the Boys." The one time
this year that Betty stepped out, to Xavier
Cugat's opening night at Ciro's, she hap-
pened to sit near Vivian, but the tables
were placed so that their backs were to
each other, and they never saw each other
all night. That was duly and elaborately
reported as a Grable snub and laid to the
fact that Betty was "jealous."
On the contrary, Betty's probably the
most open-hearted, easy, non-tempera-
mental star in Hollywood. She plugged, for
instance, to get pretty new June Haver
(who looks dangerously like a young edi-
tion of Grable) in a good part in Fox's
super, "The Dolly Sisters." That sort of
thing Betty has done time and again for
newcomers. She's pushed along the screen
careers of dance experts Kenny Williams,
Hermes Pan and Betty's dance stand-in,
Angie Blue, by getting them in person be-
fore the camera. She wangled a stock con-
tract at RKO for Bobbie Coleman, a girl
who used to work in the Cafe de Paris at
Fox. Betty's actually the chummiest star
at her studio with the little people she
works with. Her table right in the middle
of the room practically bans any big-shot
ranked above a stand-in, and it has the
reputation of being the noisiest, gayest
table in the cafe. The first person at the
studio to know Betty was wearing a ma-
donna halo was John Harvey, a young
actor who worked with her in "Pin-Up
Girl." Betty was trying to keep her secret
a secret then, but at the same time trying
to give John some pointers on how to get
more camera attention out of his part. So
he was in a position to observe with what
turned out to be an experienced eye.
It was still a secret when John calmly
asked Betty one day, "When are you ex-
pecting your baby?"
"How did you know?" gasped Betty.
"Oh, that's easy," grinned Harvey. "My
wife's expecting, too. I know all the
symptoms."
temperamental as a turtle . . .
About parts, wardrobe, make-up, di-
rectors or anything else at the studio,
Betty has about as much temperament as
a turtle. She has never "struck" or been
suspended or tried to be the grande dame
around the set. If there ever are any kick-
ups on her part, they're likely to be a plug
for the little people.
Like the time on "Coney Island" when
she broke up the company. I'd better ex-
plain first that extras, bit players and
mobs on a set carry a standing pet peeve
against eager beaver directors who get
wrapped up in their art and forget to call
a halt for a full noon hour. Well, on this
picture the director had been a little
guilty of that sort of thing, and he lined
up one morning scene featuring Betty
just three minutes before the clock hands
went straight up. They all got set finally,
the camera focused, the lights blazed, the
director yelled, "Action!"
Betty opened her mouth as if to sing.
But instead she rang the rafters, yelling,
"LUNCH!" as loud as she could. The
foiled director yelped "Cut!," the extras
roared and applauded, and Betty grinned.
That broke it up. They went to lunch!
Actually, Betty likes to work. Like her
favorite star, Bing Crosby, it's easy as pie
for her, too. She hasn't taken a script home
in years. Used to memorizing song lyrics
ever since she was twelve, she catches her
lines in one easy lesson. Her seven-year,
no option contract at Fox makes certain
she'll be in there pitching for a long, long
time to come, which is okay with Grable.
Although she'll be a lot happier when
Harry stops running off to play back East
and wangles his coast-to-coast broad-
casting from Hollywood. That prospect
looks rosy now, too, because Harry's new
three-picture-a-year contract at M-G-M
is going to keep him close to home.
So far there aren't any James family
plans to launch Victoria Elizabeth on a
movie career, although that blue-eyed doll
already has all the witching personality
of both her maw and paw. Besides, she got
her name, you know, from Vickie Lane,
the character Betty played in "Spring-
time in the Rockies," the fatal picture
which brought Betty and Harry James
together.
Betty herself quips away any such future
movie-mama suggestions with, "How can
she be a glamour girl when she's bald?"
She also points to the discouraging only
time she brought Victoria on the set.
Vicki didn't like it one bit and set up a
terrific fuss with tears and tantrums.
But, after all, it's the fans who have the
final word on such mighty matters. And
only the other day Betty got a letter from
a soldier fan which might be a tip-off.
It was addressed to Miss Victoria Eliz-
abeth Grable, and when Betty opened it,
a quarter fell out in her lap.
"Dear Vicki," penned the GI hopefully.
"I've always been crazy about your
mother — but it looks like I lost out to
Harry James. So keep this quarter — and
when you grow up to be a beautiful movie
star — send me an autographed picture,
will you?"
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(Continued from page 41)
As for bounding Betty, it was new ex-
perience enough just getting whammed
away at like a lady duck. But by that time
Hutton was already hep to a flock of new
delights and dangers which her little head
had never dreamed about 'way back in
cozy, comfy Hollywood.
Like, for instance, giving out with the
glamour in spooky jungle clearings while
tropic skies emptied buckets of rain on
her famous figure. Like crooning and
hoofing to the grim rat-a-rat of Yank rifles
knocking off nearby Nips. Like snatching
beauty sleeps on steel floors of bumpy
cargo planes and in mud-mired pup tents.
Like tripping to the powder room under
escorts of MP's so a sniper wouldn't wing
her, and watching Marines solemnly tub
out her pink unmentionables. Like get-
ting introduced to 105 degree dysentery
fever, living on Spam and raisins, watch-
ing her clothes rot right off her fair body
and sweating out eight steamy weeks
without a bath. Like getting tagged a
white goddess by awe-struck savages and
losing a ton of lipstick to a few thousand
love-hungry GI's who hadn't seen a white
woman in months, let alone kissed one,
and Betty Hutton at that.
When Betty got home, she'd traveled
50,000 miles by plane, boat, jeep amph-
track and what have you over the toughest
front line circuit of them all, making stops
no other Hollywood star had ever dared.
She had felt the blast of bombs and heard
the whine of bullets and smelt the smell
of death. She'd trod the hallowed sands of
Tarawa, Saipan, Guam, Kwajelein, Tinian
and a couple dozen more spots of glorious
Yank memory. And along the way she'd
found the war job she'd asked for and
done her derndest to give out what — Betty
hoped — the boys could see in the way of
chuckles and cheer.
stepchildren in the pacific . . .
Because her hot spot Pacific hops were
strictly Betty Hutton's idea — or rather the
idea she got from a few thousand ardent
pen pals stranded out where the going's
rough. "How about it, Hutton?" they
wrote. "How's about a date?" And, "Sav-
ing a Jap for you, Baby. Come get him
before he spoils."
Betty had only one question to ask the
USO people, "Where do the boys need
entertainment the most?"
"That's easy," they told her right off.
"The Middle-Pacific. They've only had
Bob Hope and Jack Benny over there, and
they didn't make all the stops." They went
on to explain that while European fighting
fronts had already wallowed in the com-
parative entertainment heaven of some two
or three hundred star tours, the rugged
island clean-up guys were stepchildren,
and they didn't like it. In fact, there had
been complaints. But there were plenty
of good reasons why: Distances were ter-
rific, transportation was risky and rugged.
Living conditions were terrible, wicked
diseases all over the place, climate awful,
and all the food canned. Besides, any-
where you went, you were likely to run
smack into Japs. They were still all
around, dug like moles in the ground and
hanging like monkeys from the trees. "It's
no place for a lady," they explained polite-
ly.
"Be careful who you call a lady,"
cracked Betty. "That's for me. When do I
start?" They said any time and the sooner
the quicker.
Well, there was a picture, of course.
There's always a picture for Hutton these
days, but this time Betty just up and said,
"It can wait." Good old Paramount put
up an argument about million dollar sched-
ules and things for Betty's next, "Duffy's
Tavern," but they weren't really serious —
not when they saw Hutton's jaw. In no
time flat she was woozy with twelve
different kinds of shots — for every foul
affliction from the craw-craw to house-
maid's knee. That's when Hutton first
realized she was in the Army now— al-
though maybe the light dawned a little
more officially up in San Francisco, where
she hopped off.
the once-over . . .
Because when a Hollywood star sets
out to send overseas, she gets her orders
straight from headquarters like the low-
liest Sad Sack. Betty arrived at the Golden
Gate full of beans and rarin' to go. She
was a dazzling blue dream dish in a beau-
tiful USO uniform creation by Schmidt,
Hollywood's swankiest tailor. She sported
a studio hair-do out of this world with
every trick curl in place. She was show-
ered, shined and shampooed. She dragged
five big bags jammed with fine feathers
and enough glamour items to stake an
expedition of Earl Carroll cuties.
The bags went first. "You can take
one," allowed the brass hats. "Now there's
the little matter of permits and passports
and — er — a few questions."
Well, Hutton stewed around San Fran
four days while Uncle Sam gave her the
once-over. Wires whipped back and forth
to Washington, clearing her with the FBI,
the IOU, the FHA, WCTU and the SPCA.
Meanwhile, interviewing officers chopped
down her family tree and examined the
pieces. They traced her every move since
the days of Public School No. 12. They
wanted to know all about her intelligence
quotient and her batting average in the
Three-I League Ladies Auxiliary. Betty
told them how she liked her oatmeal, and
her personal reaction to Frankie Sinatra.
She revealed that her name backwards,
spelled "Nottuh," and that she was allergic
to gefuelte-fish. Of course, I'm pouring it
on a little. But the point is that if Betty
had the impression she'd already told all
to the Hollywood gossips, she was just liv-
ing in a fool's paradise, that's all. By the
time the Army got through with Hutton,
they had her on paper for keeps. And by
the time it was clear she was no Jap spy,
but a nice girl with something for the
boys, the beautiful USO deal was a little
baggy behind, the studio hair-do was
wilted, her manicure was chewed off, and
the Mrs. General MacArthur outlook Betty
sported when she hit Frisco had shriveled
down to size — around the Mrs. Private
Hargrove division.
Of course, all that's necessary and right
and proper, and Hutton had no kicks. But
what touched off the thermite was a part-
ing word of wisdom breathed in her ear at
the take-off.
There a USO lady, trying to be helpful,
came up to Betty. "My dear," she whis-
pered in a between-us-girls voice, "Be
sure and take enough personal things
along. You can't get them out there."
"Like what?" asked Betty.
"Well," said the lady, with a significant
glance, "Like peroxide — for your hair."
Betty controlled the impulse. Instead
she drew herself up in her best Queen
Victoria manner. "We are not amused,"
she said icily. "For your information, my
blonde hair is not out of a bottle!"
Maybe all that deglamorizing effect of
Army processing is what put Betty on her
P's and Q's when at last she soared out
over the Golden Gate. Maybe it was the
squawks that had just seeped back to the
States from Pacific GI's about tempera-
mental Hollywood stars on jungle battle
front tours. Maybe, too, she was all wrong
about it, but Betty felt a little on the
pastes best, of course/*
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defensive — as if the transport crew was
just watching and waiting for her to be
Little Miss Movie Star.
Anyway, she sat quiet like the mouse
on her little bucket seat, didn't speak
unless spoken to and tended to her knit-
ting until the boys loosened up and got
sociable. That didn't take long. Pretty
soon somebody trotted up with a shy grin
and a cup of hot bouillon (because it's cold
up high even over the South Seas). An-
other flyer offered his coat. Then the
skipper looked over his shoulder and won-
dred if Betty would like to sit in the co-
pilot's seat and "fly the ship." It's a long
hop to Hawaii, where Hutton was headed
— thirteen hours and not much scenery.
And after all Betty Huttcn is no scare-
crow. The ice gradually thawed and
finally broke wide open when the guys got
up a game of black-jack. "Like to sit in,
Miss Hutton?" one of them asked.
That's all Betty needed. "Sure!" she
beamed, wondering dismally what her
Hollywood business manager would say.
She'd never played the darned game.
murder she said . . .
Who won? H-m-m-m-m — what always
happens with beginners? Lousy with luck,
that's what. Hutton clipped them neatly
for $40. Then somebody suggested a crap
game. She'd never played that either.
But the galloping cubes stuffed Betty's
purse with another $25. When she told
the guys with that famous grin, "Honest,
I never played these games before!" they
rolled all over the ship howling "Murder!"
"Murder, he says," cracked Hutton hap-
pily-
"Sing, it, Betty!" somebody yelled. And
that touched off Hutton's first Army show,
right up there in the skies.
Nobody ever called Betty a prima donna
or remembered, after a couple of grins,
that she'd ever seen a studio. She never
hit a lick of Hollywood hostility on the
whole tour. And when the boys broke
down and chummed up — Hutton knocked
them on their ears, with pep and person-
ality— regardless of altitude, speed, direc-
tion or wind drift. She had a different
plane and a different crew each time, too.
But whether they were C54's, converted
Cats, bombers or just washing machines
with wings, they all bulged at the seams
when the gang really broke it up with a
show. Nobody ever heard of flight fatigue
on a Hutton hop, from then on.
She wasn't traveling as a one-girl show,
of course. Betty Hutton was the USO
group's headliner, but besides the Hutton
tot there were five other merrymakers
along, including Valsetz, a comedy juggler,
Tito Guidotti, accordionist, Arthur Herbert,
funny man, George Costa, guitar, and a
cutie-pie named Virginia (Jeepers) Car-
roll, who did acrobatic dances.
Betty's first stop, naturally, was Hawaii.
She knew that before she took off. And
Hawaii was thrill enough to start off with.
For one thing, it had always been Betty's
dream someday to land beside Waikiki
Beach, get loops of leis tossed over her
neck and hear the guitars whine out
"Aloha." She got all that — and Heaven, too
— that is, if you call Heaven a few hundred
homesick soldiers who'd heard the news
and jammed the Honolulu docks to say
hello. But that's putting it too mildly.
They didn't just say hello — they kissed it.
When that rugged welcome was over,
Betty thought she'd seen — and kissed —
everything. But it's impossible for a
Hollywood gal to realize what a sensation
a famous female face fresh from home cre-
ates in an overseas khaki world. They
whisked her right over to the Moana, one
of Honolulu's biggest taverns, hopping
these days with nobody but Yanks in uni-
form. Remember, Betty had never been
off the soil of the good old U.S.A. before,
and while she'd made plenty of p.a. trips,
she'd always traveled with her mama.
telephonitis extremis . . .
And at the Moana, Betty and Virginia
Carroll were the only two sweet young
things lodged in a building crammed to the
eaves with fellows on furloughs. That
added up to a wallflower's dream, and
neither Betty nor Ginny are exactly wall-
flowers. The phone started clanging the
minute they heaved their bags on the flooor
and plunked themselves on the beds, and it
never stopped. "Hey Hutton, we're down
here in Room 424. How about coming
on down?" Or, "My name's Joe. I met you
in Kokomo, remember? Well, I've got a
pal, Jim here, and we thought, if you
weren't doing anything — " The calls piled
up on each other, and Betty, the friendly
dope, answered them all, gabbed on and on
until she could barely squeak. Some
wanted just to say, "Hello," others stuttered
and gagged with excitement and thrills.
Betty peeled off her travel clothes, smeared
cold cream on her cheeks and tried to pull
her tired body together with one hand
while she clutched the receiver with the
other. If she had collapsed in a heap that
night, medical science would have had its
first authentic case of telephonitis extremis.
But that wasn't half. Pretty soon came
the foot thuds in the hall outside, the raps
on the door. "Can we come in, Betty? . . .
Can you come out, Betty? . . . Just for a
look — gosh, can't we just see you a sec-
ond? ... I know a guy in Hollywood
knows you. . . . Will you autograph my
necktie? ... I got a bottle of Scotch. . . .
I got a present for you. . . . Can we come
in? . . . Can't you come out? . . ."
Poor Hutton. All she could do was wail,
"I'm sorry fellows, but I'm a mess. I'm
in the hay sacked down with a hair net
and grease on my face, and I look like a
witch. I'm bushed and woozy and the
heat's got me. See you in the morning."
But of couse, that didn't work. She ended
up shooting the breeze half the night
through the keyhole to a few hundred
affectionate guys who liked the personal
touch even if it had to be through a door.
And in between she worked on the tele-
phone. She'd probably never have got to
close her eyes at all if the MP's, taking
pity on her, hadn't broken it up at last and
stationed a couple of guards at her door.
The Hawaiian Islands are dotted with
big bases, airfields, Army and Navy posts.
Betty and Co. played most of them and
learned a few things about making with
entertainment in a GI world.
For instance: That soldiers out yonder
are suckers for perfume, silk stockings,
high heels, trick hair-do's, flowers, bangles
and all the feminine doo-dads they used
to razz back home. But they don't like a
lot of body tossed at them. First thing
Betty heard about was another Hollywood
glamour girl who poured on the sex wher-
ever she landed, and the nickname the
guys had for her — "Old Bumps and Bones"
— was not what you'd call flattering.
They don't go for slinky evening gowns
or Adrian creations, but plain American
girl clothes like they remember best. Luck-
ily, Betty's one bag was crammed with ten
dresses just like that, which were okay
while they lasted, but that wasn't long.
GI's don't care for dirty or suggestive songs
or jokes either. They like them gay and
funny but clean. Favorites Betty sang were
"Murder," "His Rocking Horse Ran
Away" and "Swinging On a Star." They
craved laughs and music and talent. One
thing Betty discovered right away, too,
was that they wanted Hutton around all
of the time.
At first she came on, like any head-
liner, late in the show. But that just didn't
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work out. "How about Hutton?" the Yank
audience yelped, and when Betty did come
out, it was too much like a grand entrance
— okay for Garbo or someone snooty — but
not built for a Hutton. Betty solved that
situation pronto by taking over the whole
master of ceremonies job, from start to
finish. It meant she worked twice as hard,
wisecracking alone with Art Herbert, jit—
terbugging around while Costa's guitar
throbbed, shaking hips to Guidotti's ac-
cordian — even doing a few nip-ups with
Ginny Carroll. All in addition to her own
gymnastic jive numbers, which you can
hardly call relaxed and easy.
the jap menace . . .
The going started getting rough the
minute Hutton hopped off from civilized
Hawaii into the setting sun. Her first
stop, Johnson Island, for instance, was just
a chunk of sand dropped into the drink —
no trees no animals, no nothin' — except a
garrison of lonely Yanks and a few tired
seagulls. They'd never dreamed of any-
thing like a Hollywood show before, let
alone Hutton. They almost ate her up.
But the butterflies didn't really flutter
around inside Hutton until she boarded the
plane that was to zoom her out to the Big
League Jap hunting grounds. Not till she
left Johnson Island did Betty have the
exact dope on her own travelogue. She
had a good idea, but it really didn't smack
her right between her eyes until she asked
this pilot, "Where are we headed?" and
he rattled off a bunch of names that
wrote headlines in blood only a few
weeks ago — "Saipan, Kwajelein, Tarawa,
Guam."
Betty's bright remark was, "But aren't
there Japs still hanging around there?"
"Sure," agreed the pilot. "That's what
makes 'em interesting."
The news was no gag, either. On the
hop out, over the Marshalls and the Gil-
berts, a plane crew GI had handed Betty
one of those Yank newspapers the soldiers
seem to get out wherever they stop
overnight. This one was strictly All-
Pacific and loaded, of course, with the
gripes and gaiety of guys who develop
senses of humor based on things that
aren't necessarily such a laugh at bottom.
She'd laughed herself silly at one car-
toon. It showed two Nips perched in palm
trees watching an American camp movie.
Said one monkey to the other — "Nuts —
it's just a 'B' picture — Let's get out of
here."
The funniest part about that was that it
wasn't funny — if that makes sense. On half
the conquered islands of Betty's trip there
were still plenty of these snakes around,
ready to do a drill with a sniper's bullet —
and just as close as that, too.
First night Betty played at Saipan, she'd
barely got into her first number when
what sounded like a giant cornpopper
went off a few yards away. Nobody in the
audience budged, so Betty just swallowed
hard and kept on shouting. But after
she ducked off, she whispered to an officer,
"What in the world was that?"
"Oh," he yawned, "some of the boys
found some Japs down the road."
That's why a squad of MP's had to march
her around every time she budged alone
outside her quarters. It was a little — er —
embarrassing to have an honor guard every
time she powdered her nose, but it was a
lot better than a bullet.
Once, on Guam just as she was climb-
ing up on the platform to start a show,
Betty almost tripped in the dark over a
bump on the ground that turned out to be
a little brown brother recently gone to
meet his gods, courtesy of the U. S. Ma-
rines. Somebody'd planted him, but not
quite deep enough, and the rains had
brought the brother to light again. Betty
almost swooned, naturally, but a GI cov-
ered him up decently. "Well," he drawled,
"you really can't blame the little rat.
He heard Betty Hutton was here, and
he wanted to come up and see the
show!"
But nasty Nip stinkers weren't the
worst part by far. The things that get a
girl set to commit mayhem to her best
friend on a Marshalls-Marianas tour are
the torturing annoyances of daily life
which every soldier who's served there,
guy or gal, knows only too well. It's better
if you can just relax and suffer in silence,
but remember, Betty had to be bright and
gay, night and day — because how can you
expect a GI to get all worked up over a
sour, Sad Sack puss?
First, it seemed, she was always landing
at some new island around 3 o'clock A.M.
after a bumpy attempt to sleep without a
mattress on a C54 steel floor. Then she'd
try to snatch some shut-eye in a tent Jupe
Pluvius was doing his best to drown.
It rains all the time in the Pacific, as near
as Betty could figure. And the showers
just make it hotter and steamier than
a summer greenhouse. Before every show
Betty, Virginia and the gang would have
to mop their tiny plank stages so both
gals wouldn't dislocate a hip when they
danced. What those torrents did to Bet-
ty's beauty tricks, too, was a caution.
The first time the skies opened up in
the middle of an act Hutton and Company
ducked for cover. But there was such a
disappointed yowl from the soldiers who
had only that one chance to see Betty
(remember those guys are busy) that they
all ran right back, but with GI raincoats
wrapped around. Well, what's Hutton
sacked up in a slicker? More yowls. From
then on they just rose above it, and kept
singing in the rain. Of course, a hair-do
wouldn't last a minute with treatment like
that, and the climate steamed out every-
thing anyway. So Betty put lacquer on
her hair and swept it up to some false top
curls that she could hang out and dry
between shows. She used other make-up
by the box-fulls, because no sooner would
she get set with powder, mascara, rouge
than a cloudburst washed it right off. As
for lipstick — well — as I said, the boys took
care of that.
But her worst casualty was clothes. No
dress made can take beatings like that.
Tropical rots get busy, too, and if you
haven't got a dress handy, they'll go to
work right on your skin. One kind of island
fungus will make you grow a tree if you
don't watch out, complete with leaves,
blossoms and everything in no time at
all. It's amazin'.
Betty's duds dropped off her like Gypsy
Rose Lee's used to before she got artistic.
It Betty had stayed out there a week
longer, she'd have had to sing and dance
in a barrel. The gorgeous USO uniform
lasted just one hop after Hawaii. One by
one her ten little dresses crumbled away,
and you couldn't even have given Betty
to the Good Will hour by the time she got
home. The only time on the trip she really
got sore, incidentally, was at the last island
she visited, Canton, where a wise guy GI
observed her last vanishing frock, ripped,
tattered and mouldy at the seams, and
her last pair of slippers with heels
busted off.
miracle girl . . .
"For gosh sakes, Hutton!" he cracked
after the show. "Next time you come down
here, bring along some decent clothes. You
sure look crummy!"
Betty bit her lips and counted ten. She
didn't bother to explain how she'd worn
herself ragged. There's always one
smartie like that — even in the Army.
Betty knew she wasn't half as bushed
as most of the boys. She'd sing for
them after they'd (Continued on page 92)
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climbed out of bombers, red- eyed and
smelling of grease and gun powder. And
she'd see them off, too, sometimes in the
dawn. She'll never forget the thrill she
had when she saw a flock of B-29's take
off from Saipan and heard a pilot crack,
"Guess I'll go lay some eggs."
"Say," objected Betty, "that's my racket."
"Okay," he grinned, "then I'll lay one for
you — a very special egg." She didn't quite
understand until she heard the next day
that those B-29's were back from a very
special place — Tokyo.
Every time Betty started a show, she'd
look out over those crowds of wonderful
fighting men, and she'd say, "Good evening
— Gentlemen," very slow and emphasized.
There would always be groans. "You are
gentlemen, aren't you?" Betty 'd crack in
mock surprise, and the GI's would roar
back,
"HELL, NO!"
But Betty knew better.
They almost tore each other apart to see
who'd do Betty's laundry, for instance, and
one of the funniest sights Betty remembers
is a bunch of Marines on Tinian Island
sudsing out her panties and bras with the
help of a few dozen other leathernecks
tossing helpful suggestions from the side-
lines!
kingdom come . . .
Betty was the innocent cause of lots of
gags, tricks and rivalry races along the
route. Her coming was something of an
event, well advertised, as you can imagine
out in a land where a white woman's ten
times rarer than a Republican in Dixie.
Like the time she swooped down on Kwa-
jelein at 2 a.m. to be met by a couple of
grinning special service lieutenants and
whisked off to a midnight welcome party
and feast, complete with Spam a la Tropi-
que (in other words — Spam) warm beer
and everything. Well, right in the middle
of the whoop-la, in stormed a general
shaking his fists and biting the air. "Who
stole my alarm clock?" he was yelping.
Then he saw all the other officers clustered
around Betty, and he knew he'd been
tricked. Seems he'd fretted all week
planning to welcome Betty personally, and
then his aides had framed him. But the
General was a good sport about it.
As audiences, of course, there's just
not a higher grade article on the market
for any entertainer anywhere than GI
Joes. Betty has traveled plenty of show
circuits in her 23 years, but she never
ran into anything like the applause that
pounded her shell pink ears in the Pacific
Island Loop. Three times Marines got so
worked up they tumbled right out of palm
trees in the middle of her show. But the
hottest tribute (and I'm not kidding) to
Hutton's allure was the night the ammuni-
tion dump almost blew up.
Hutton was knocking herself out, as
usual, on this big island that I'd better not
name. All of a sudden the fire siren
sounded, and the lights went up. The loud
speaker said a fire was raging next to the
ammunition dump across the way. The
show would have to stop until it was put
out. Well — not one of those rapt GI's
budged, even though it looked like they
all might be blown to Kingdom come any
minute. Rather die happy with Hutton, I
suppose. Of course, there came officers'
orders right after that.
Yep, the GI's were great, all right. But
not even a notch beneath the male heroes
of the Pacific, in Betty's book, were the
brave Army nurses she met. No applause
for those gals, serving silently, no glam-
our, flirtations nor fun — just hard work
and the reward of a grateful look from a
wounded boy's eyes.
soldiers in skirts . . .
Half the nurses Betty met hadn't seen
a bobby pin, powder, lipstick, perfume
or even soap for weeks. But there wasn't
a gripe. Betty bunked in nurses' quarters
at several stops, and everywhere she in-
creased her respect. Of course, the girls
were eager to gab away with Hutton all
night long, and being human, they wanted
to know — what are the new styles in hats
and hair-do's along the Boulevard? And
who's doing what and with whom in Hol-
lywood? She did her best to give them a
word picture of the wartime feminine
world back home, even if it cost her some
shut-eye. She never regretted it. When
it came the nurses' turn to do favors, they
paid Betty back with interest.
Dysentery finally trapped Betty on Eni-
wetok, about halfway through the tour.
Her temp hopped up to 105 degrees, and
there were all kinds of drastic symptoms.
But that wasn't the main crisis: The worst
danger was the word Betty got on her bed
of pain — that she was to be shipped back
to Hawaii as a casualty! Hutton wanted
no part of that — sick as she was — and the
two nurses who flew in from Kwajelein to
keep her comfy had to think fast and
work faster when tearful Betty turned on
the heat. "You've got to get me well
right away," she wailed, "they're gonna
send me back home, and I don't wanna
go!" So the nurses did everything they
knew — both night and day — to fight dysen-
tery and, believe it or not, it worked. Betty
was on her feet, a little shaky, and minus
ten pounds, but in there pitching, in three
days, and the hospital plane that was
standing by to fly her back to the States
was out of luck.
All in all, Betty Hutton visited thirty-
odd islands, some big, some small — a lot of
them you don't hear so much about — like
Namur, Roi, Antawarak, Majuro, Johnson,
Christmas Island and Canton. She aver-
aged three shows a day and a few at night,
and she could have played a daily dozen
if she'd had the time and the strength
(they did book six for her at one place,
but she lasted out only four). Her audi-
ences ranged from a mere platoon to 20,-
000 GI's. She sang and danced mostly on
her "hunk of plank" stages, but plenty
of times in airplanes, on trucks, aboard
battleship — even on a submarine.
High on Hutton's list of thrills, in fact,
was the time she got invited to rub the
tummy of the brass buddha the pig-boat
torpedomen kept beside their tin-fish
tubes. They massage it every time before
they send one into a Jap boat, and this
particular sub had already cluttered up the
ocean with Nip ships, so Betty knew
darned well her buddha-rub would pay
off sooner or later. On the battleship,
too, she met the only Hollywood star she
found in the Pacific front lines. Lieutenant
Henry Fonda introduced her to his ship-
mates before Betty went to work. "Fel-
lows," drawled Hank, "I don't know how
to explain this: I lived in Hollywood for
years, but I had to come to this god-for-
saken place to meet Betty Hutton!"
Closer home, in Honolulu, Betty found
Bob Stack, a j.g. and a fellow named Lieut.
Bob Crosby, who's a Marine. Bob handed
her a flying jacket he wanted Betty to carry
back to Brother Bing, and on the back of
the thing he chalked, "Help, Bing, help-
it's Hutton!" When Betty turned it over to
the Groaner, he like to died laughing.
Souvenirs Betty got to keep for herself
were a little more exotic. A Jap banzai
flag that got itself "banzed" prematurely
on Saipan. A bracelet of Jap shells with,
"You keep us laughing and we'll keep the
Japs frowning," engraved by the Yanks. An
officer's hari-kari knife that had been
working overtime lately, a hundred GI
mementos, buttons, badges, ribbons and
such, her very own picture taken with the
"king and queen" of Tinian (they thought
she was a white goddess out of this world)
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and what she prizes most— a simple plaque
tendered her by the Fourth Marine Divi-
sion. It just says simply, "Thanks to Betty
Hutton and her troupe. Semper Fidelis.
Betty wouldn't trade it for a solid gold
Academy Oscar.
There's only one thing that worries Hut-
ton about that Semper Fidelis, "Always
Faithful" sentiment. Of course she s
thrilled to the toes to have it tagged to
her name. But Betty's afraid maybe the
Marines she met out there will give a bit-
ter, hollow laugh when they get back
stateside and try to look her up. You
see, Betty handed out her Hollywood ad-
dress to Lord knows how many guys
scattered around the Pacific, along with
about five thousand photographs and, I
suppose, easily that many smackeroos. She
gave the boys the right address, too—
132 South Spaulding— just like a Semper
Fidelis gal should.
But when Betty got back to Hollywood,
wrapped in her borrowed colonel's flying
suit, GI boots and Bob Crosby's USMC
cap, the first thing she discovered was
that her mother had moved her things to a
beautiful, big new mansion in the Holly-
wood Hills as a home coming surprise.
Now, wonders Hutton, what will happen
when those Marines get out their little
black books on their first leaves and dis-
cover that Betty doesn't live there any
more? She shudders to think.
betty in wonderland . . .
Those doubts didn't begin to gnaw on
Betty's conscience, however, until a little
later on. First thing Betty did, when she
stepped inside her new house — a dirty,
dismally disheveled, dog-dead gal ripe for
an overdue crackup— was to fall flat on the
floor and tenderly pat the nice, soft rugs.
Then like Alice in Wonderland, she walked
through the clean, white bathroom, the
shining kitchen, the spick and span up-
stairs, just drinking it all in. She ripped
off her jungle rags and soaked for a couple
of hours in a steaming tub, then put on
all the cologne and talcum she could find,
a new silk nightie and crawled in between
crisp, clean, snowy sheets on a real spring
mattress, in a real bed.
Then she bawled like a baby.
"Mama," wailed Hutton to her Maw. "I
can't believe it! It isn't real! It's too
good to be true!"
But after she'd caught up on her rest
again, Betty knew that home, or Holly-
wood either, would never be quite the same
after what she'd seen out there. She got
restless even before "Duffy's Tavern" was
in the can, and if they'll let her, Betty
wants to go right back out the first time she
can get a few weeks off and a new show
together. ;
To catch up with her misdirected Marine
buddies and straighten out that home ad-
dress matter and a few other items, Betty
has her eye next on the Philippines— may-
be somewhere around Manila.
She figures that's where her pals ought
to be about then on their way to Tokyo.
QUIZ ANSWERS
(Continued from page 24)
1.
c
7. a
2.
c
8. c
3.
d
9. d
4.
d
10. b
5.
a
11. c
6.
b
12. b
"BETWEEN TWO WOMEN"
(PRODUCTION)
(Continued from page 53)
their roles and can do their parts with a
minimum of rehearsals and retakes, and
there's always a lot of fun on the set. Most
of the fun on this one centered around
Van's house-hunting difficulties . . . Once
established in his new Bel Air home, Van
threw a housewarming party for the mem-
bers of the cast. Everyone was to come
dressed as he (or she) thought he might
look in fifty years. Marilyn Maxwell came
as an angel, Director Goldbeck as a ghost,
Gloria DeHaven as an old woman. Marie
Blake walked away with the costume prize,
however. Marie (who plays the part of the
switchboard operator in the Gillespie
series) was dressed as a little girl. She had
a cardboard replica of a tombstone on one
leg. Explained Marie, "I am the perennial
ingenue with one foot in the grave." . . .
The night he had his furnishings moved,
Van came home from the studio to find
the moving men seated on the living room
floor pouring over the Johnson scrapbooks.
They were a little shamefaced about it,
confessed to being avid fans and knocked
a few dollars off the moving bill for the
time they'd spent perusing through Van's
collection. ... As a conscientious home-
owner, Van climbed into dungarees and
started out to mow the lawn with an elec-
tric mower borrowed from an obliging
neighbor. Right in the middle of the job the
mower broke down, so Van called his
friend, Keenan Wynn, for help. Keenan
came over with his tool box and tinkered
for several minutes. Finally he decided
it was a job which could only be
handled in his workshop. As Wynn
pushed the mower across the yard toward
his car, the rock which had been wedged
between two blades (and was causing the
trouble) was released. The machine
started off across the lawn and across the
lawns all the way down the block with
Keenan and several irate neighbors in hot
pursuit. Van was no help. He was rolling
on his own grass, tears of laughter stream-
ing down his face! . . . But the hardest
blow of all fell the day the telephone
company came to remove the telephone.
The former owners of the house had
ordered it disconnected, and no amount
of pleading from Van could convince the
telephone company that he needed the
instrument more than they. Van is now
4748596832 on the new subscribers waiting
list. Keenan had to grow a mustache for
his next picture, "Without Love," and was
then called back for additional scenes for
"Between Two Women." Problem was
solved by having Keenan play his latter
scenes with his back to the camera. .
Gloria DeHaven has been receiving fan
mail addressed to a Hollywood Ice Cream
emporium since a national picture maga-
zine featured a layout of her having a malt
in the shop. . . . During production
Gloria's cocker spaniel became the mother
of eight puppies. Cast and crew were all
begging Gloria for the pups. She finally
had a drawing for them on the set —
proceeds went to Naval Aid. . . . Re-
member the Van Johnson birthday party
pictures which appeared in Modern Screen
a few months ago? If you do, you will
remember they were taken in the new
Keenan Wynn home which was almost
completely unfurnished because of the war
shortages. While this picture was in pro-
duction, Keenan fell heir to the entire
furnishings of his grandfather's house in
the East. There was enough furniture to
fill the Wynn home plus some left over
for friend Johnson!
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(Continued from page 51)
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NAME ...
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a glimpse of you since we finished 'Holly-
wood Canteen!' " ,
Bob's heart came out of his well-polished
shoes and back into his chest where it
belonged. He gave a shy grin of thank-
fulness. "I'm certainly glad to see you,
Miss Davis. I'm— I'm certainly glad you
remembered me."
silent past . . .
An acute case of modesty plus an equally
acute case of stagefright, that's what it
was. Most actors are comparatively tree
from both. But Bob always had been
modest, and he'd had attacks of stage
fright from the time he first decided to
be an actor at the age of eight or there-
abouts. His first public appearance m the
dramatic field was the flop of all time.
He was supposed to recite a poem in Sun-
day School. It was Easter Sunday, and the
attendance was large. Too large for young
Robert. He got up on the platform, took
one look at the audience— and forgot every
single word of the poem. He made a bow,
trying frantically to remember something.
Anything! He opened his mouth. Closed
it. Bowed again. Somebody laughed
Bob went sixteen shades of crimson and
descended from the platform without hav-
ing uttered a syllable.
For some years after that, he was dis-
couraged about his future as an actor. He
turned his attention to the more practical
matters of baseball, arithmetic (which he
wasn't very good at) and skating, which
he loved. He lived in the Hudson River
town of Kingston, where the winters were
long. It was through his passion for skating
that he encountered the fascinating field of
Girls. One night when he was in the
eighth grade, he went skating, not giving it
his usual attention because he was wor-
ried about an arithmetic exam next day.
He noticed absently that one curly -headed
minx followed him around all evening.
"Skate with me, Bob," she'd implore.
"You're a wonderful skater."
Bob skated with her, solemnly, his mind
still on arithmetic.
"Walk home with me, Bob," she begged,
when the log fire had died down and peo-
ple started to unfasten their skates.
"Huh? Listen, I gotta get home in a
hurry and study."
"Aw, we live in the same direction.
Won't take you any longer."
"Well— okay." They walked along un-
der the bare, icy branches of a birch grove.
And suddenly, Bob found himself backed
against a . birch tree while Curly Head
kissed him determinedly.
"Hey!" he protested feebly when he
could get his breath.
"What's the matter? Didn't you like
it?" She gave him the devil's own grin.
He didn't know whether he liked it or
not. He stayed awake all that night, won-
dering. The next morning he took the
arithmetic exam and got 100! Maybe kiss-
ing was a great invention. ...
During High School his interest in girls
was steady, if not romantic. Six boys and
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six girls in his crowd went around together
all the while, having fun in a brother-
and-sisterly sort of way. When you got
bored with the girl you were going with,
you went to your best friend.
"How about switching girls?"
"Okay. Starting tonight." It was a good
system. No monotony.
That, of course, was before he fell in
love. Before the crowd stopped being a
crowd and started being just a background
for The Girl. This girl was a slick dancer,
and he liked her family and she was
smooth looking and — well, it was love.
Until Bob went away to prep school. He
invited her down to a dance, but some-
how it wasn't a success. They didn't have
anything to talk about any more. And
Bob had a lot on his mind.
For one thing, he wanted to try out
prep school dramatics, and he didn't dare.
He knew he'd forget his lines and make a
mess of things, and what was the use?
Still, he didn't give up the idea. In fact,
he was worried at the moment because he
was growing so tall. Actors should be tall,
but not too tall. Bob decided to take up
smoking to stunt his growth.
At prep school you were allowed to
smoke if you had your family's permission.
But only in your room, and only if the
window was open both top and bottom.
If your room was smoky, you were in for
trouble. One night, Bob was puffing away
industriously with his head half out the
window, which seemed to be the safest
method. But gremlins must have gone to
work on the air currents. Behind him a
stern knock sounded on the door, and a
proctor stuck his head in. Bob turned
around and to his consternation found his
room silver-grey with smoke.
"Gosh, I don't know how this happened!"
"Report to the Headmaster in the morn-
ing," said the proctor sternly. As a result,
Bob spent the first week of Christmas va-
cation at school. After that he gave up
smoking temporarily and grew at a fright-
ening rate of speed.
From time to time he would eye the
cast of school plays with wistful envy.
He read all the movie magazines he could
get his hands on, and could tell you what
every star in Hollywood ate for breakfast.
But he didn't dare take a chance at acting
himself. Anyway he was pretty busy, be-
cause there were a couple of subjects he
was taking that were hell on wheels. One
of them was Science — and that was how
he came to have his appendix out. Final
exams were coming up, and Bob had a
nasty feeling that he'd never pass the one
in Science. He knew that if you were un-
able to take the exam for a legitimate
reason, you were marked on your year's
work. Which, in his case, had, he hoped,
been passable.
flesh and the devil . . .
Science was the last exam. The day
before it was due, he guilefully entered
the office of the school physician.
"I don't feel so good, doctor. A little
cold, I guess." He coughed convincingly.
The doctor examined him with appalling
thoroughness.
"Young man, you have no cold what-
soever."
Bob's martyred expression fell to pieces.
He shuffled nervously. But the doctor
wasn't through.
"What you do have is a badly inflamed
appendix. It must come out immediately."
In dazed horror, Bob heard the doctor
telephone his father long distance to send
an ambulance for his ailing son. He spent
the next two weeks in the hospital, but
the science teacher passed him on his
year's work, so the sacrifice wasn't in vain.
He was scheduled for Dartmouth when
he finished prep school, but he had been
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doing some serious thinking. One night he
called a family conclave.
"I want to go to dramatic school instead
of college," he said.
They stared at him as if he'd said he
wanted to be a pink elephant. "But you've
never acted'. Why didn't you try out for
the dramatic club at school?"
"I don't like it," Bob said grimly. "It
scares me to death. But I'm going to be
an actor if it kills me."
He went. And hated it. The school was
a good one in New York City, and Bob
spent two years there. The most miserable
two years of his life. His first stage ap-
pearance there was a night of horror. The
role demanded that he appear in shorts,
and even his legs were blushing.
His one really big part at school was in
a play about the Bronte sisters. He played
their brother, a boy of eighteen or so, who
was a thorough bad hat. Drank, took dope,
had an affair with a married woman and
made his sisters' lives miserable. There
was one terrific scene where the boy went
completely berserk. It was a swell scene
for an actor, and Bob loved it. He'd played
it several times, with all his fellow students
congratulating him on his portrayal. Then
they put on a special performance, with
Elisabeth Patterson, the actress, in the
audience. Came The Scene! Bob's mind
suddenly went as blank as a sheet of paper.
He just stood there, utterly wretched. At
last he said, "I'm sorry, Miss Feagin," to
the directress and walked offstage. For
weeks afterward he went around in black
despondency, but he didn't give up.
After dramatic school, he played summer
stock at Woodstock, New York, which
was practically shouting distance from his
home in Kingston. It was a good training
ground, because it was near enough to
New York so that they got Broadway
actors and actresses in the group. And
talent scouts showed up once in a while.
There were a couple of them there the
Saturday night Bob lost his temper.
The play that night was a mystery called
"Cuckoo on The Hearth." Bob portrayed
a minister, one of the murder suspects. He
was in the middle of a big scene with the
heroine, which had the audience on the
edge of their seats. Was he really the
murderer? Was that a gun he was reach-
ing for? There was a concerted gasp
(heaven to an actor's ears) as he brought
his hand slowly out of his pocket. And
then. . . .
face on the upstage wall . . .
"Whe-e-e!" hiccoughed a drunken voice
behind him. The supposedly solid "wall"
opened, and a strange man staggered out.
He blinked at the glare of lights and eyed
Bob and the heroine reproachfully. "Wha'
you doin' here?" he inquired. "Get outa
my way."
The audience, talent scouts and all, loved
it. They went into gales of merriment,
while Hutton burned. The scene, of course,
blew higher than a kite. Bob's big chance
was gone. He looked at the drunk, who
was wearing an obviously new gabardine
suit. Bob reached for a pail of water that
someone had left just offstage. With a
sure hand he hurled its contents.
"He didn't even sober up, but it gave
me a lot of satisfaction. And it sure took
the creases out of that gabardine suit!"
It was around this time that Bob began
to work as a model for the Walter Thorn-
ton agency in New York. He commuted
from Kingston, which is some fancy com-
muting since it's a two-and-a-half hour
ride from New York.
One day Bob and a bee-yuit-ful girl
named Mona posed for a cover for Modern
Romances. Bob was the big, strong type
of hero in this one, and was holding Mona
as she bent half over backwards. It would
look very virile and romantic on the cover,
but when you had to hold that pose for
an hour it was tough going.
' There must be an easier way to make
a living," he said plaintively, at last.
"Look, chum, this picture will be a work
of art. It's likely to land you in Hollywood,"
the photographer assured him. At which
they all laughed merrily.
The funny part was that it did. A talent
scout who saw the cover had also caught
one of Bob's performances in summer stock.
"Photogenic and can act, too," he wired
his studio, which happened to be Warner
Brothers. So pretty soon, Bob was given
a screen test in New York. They ran the
result off for him a few days later, and he
was in despair. Boy, was he lousy, he
thought gloomily. If only the test had
been good! If only he hadn't looked like
a wooden Indian with occasional attacks
of St. Vitus dance!
Fortunately, the powers that be at War-
ners' took no such dim view of the affair.
Mysteriously, they liked the test. In fact,
before Bob came out of the fog, he found
himself with a contract and a ticket to
Hollywood in his hand. He was in!
You would have thought he'd be in a
rosy delirium of happiness, wouldn't you?
But not Hutton. Worries flew around his
head like a swarm of mosquitoes. "Here
it starts all over again," he thought miser-
ably. "The stage fright, and making a
damn fool of myself." When his friends
congratulated him, he looked at them with
a graveyard expression and said, "I'll be
back in six months. Eating at the Auto-
mat."
He wasn't, of course. He made "Des-
tination Tokyo," and he was a hit. He
played the soldier in "Janie," and fans
began asking for more Hutton. Gosh, they
raved, he's so good looking! He looks like
Jimmy Stewart, only younger and hand-
somer. He was shy and sort of sweet,
and when he looked at you, you melted
into a romantic daze. You wanted to give
him the world, and a spoon to eat it with.
When he was making "Janie," little
Claire Foley, who played the demon kid
sister, adored him. She got in the habit of
spending most of her time between takes
sitting on his lap. Then, quite suddenly,
she stopped speaking to him.
"Say, what goes with Claire?" Bob asked
her mother, puzzled.
She laughed. "She's found out you're
married. She thinks you've been trifling
with her affections!" Even at Claire's age,
a girl wants no rival for Hutton. Of course,
after she met Natalie, his charming bride,
things were different, but Claire never went
back to sitting on his lap.
By the time Bob married Natalie, a
Beverly Hills socialite, he had really ar-
rived. He went around in a dreamy state
of unbelief at his own luck. Gosh, what a
change from those days in New York when
he used to munch crackers and milk (nice
and cheap) at a lunch counter and watch
Wistfully through the window while a
crowd of autograph hunters mobbed
Sinatra. Now they asked Bob for his auto-
graph when they saw him, and his hand
shook so he couldn't even write straight.
forever broke, forever blondes . . .
"Didn't you ever have any fun in New
York?'' his wife would ask incredulously
"Were you broke all the while?"
"No. It just seemed like all the while.
Sure, I had fun now and then." He grinned
mischievously. "Like the time I took out
that gorgeous blonde."
The gorgeous blonde had been the re-
ceptionist at dramatic school. Bob, ab-
sorbed in dreams and worries, hadn't no-
ticed her particularly, till one day he hap-
pened to be sitting in the reception room.
She was standing in front of the wall
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mirror, combing her lovely blonde hair.
"Hey, this chick is really glamour in-
corporated," Bob discovered suddenly. She
met his gaze in the mirror and smiled, and
he forgot that he had exactly two dollars
to last till Thursday.
"Would you go out with me tonight?" he
inquired. No build-up at all.
Maybe the abruptness was a welcome
change from the usual approach. Or may-
be the hopeful, earnest expression in Bob's
eyes did it. Anyway, the answer was yes.
There was one awful moment when he re-
membered the sad state of his finances.
But he went around borrowing a quarter
here and fifty cents there till he had enough
for a gala evening. It was wonderful.
Now those days are gone. He can afford
to eat the things he likes. Chops, broccoli
with lots of Hollandaise, apple pie. When
he's interviewed, he says wistfully, "Ask
me what I like to eat, huh? When I used
to read these interviews, they always told
about that. I used to dream of the day
when someone would want to know what I
ate!"
He doesn't like meals at regular hours.
He'll skip a couple, then get hungry and
eat like crazy to make up. He loves to
tuck away a couple of milk shakes and a
slab of pie just before he goes to bed.
He has a passion for looking out of hotel
windows, and for Argyle socks — size eleven
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— and for leaving the radio on (playing
nice, soft music) no matter what he's
doing. He likes girls in green dresses, with
no hats, and bright nail polish. He likes
people, and people — naturally — like him.
He was in New York when Warners'
screened his latest picture, "Hollywood
Canteen," for the magazine reviewers. He
was anxious to see it, and his mother came
down from Kingston to see it with him.
A more nervous guy you've never en-
countered! He sat there, sort of huddled
up — all six feet of him, leaning forward
anxiously during the important scenes,
gnawing his nails. His mother took a quick
look around every now and then, and reas-
sured him in a whisper.
"I think they like it.
in the right places."
They liked it a lot.
Hutton. They're going
"Roughly Speaking," too. By the way,
who turned up on the set of "Roughly
Speaking," but the model who had posed
for that MODERN ROMANCES cover with
him, Mona Freeman. That photographer
must have been psychic! Bob is scheduled
for another "Janie" picture, and he's mak-
ing "Rendezvous" with Eleanor Parker.
The latter is a story of Major Gus Day-
mond who was one of the first Americans
to join the Eagle Squadron. The action
takes place in London during the blitz, and
Bob is pretty excited over the part of
Daymond. You will be too, when you see
it. You'll sigh and say "Umm, that Hutton!"
Then maybe you'll giggle a little, remem-
bering the times when Bob tried to act and
could only bow and blush and stutter. The
funny part is that Bob, even when he gets
to be a top star, will remember them, too.
He's that kind of a guy.
They're laughing
And they liked
to like him in
"I OUGHT TO BOX HIS EARS . .."
(Continued from page 39)
"Twentieth — glug — Fox — "
He swears that's all he said, so it must
have been the glugs that did it. Anyway,
he was one of the select few invited to her
house to see a picture. All evening he sat
dazed at being in the same room with
divinity, then left and had a nervous
breakdown.
There's nothing arrogant about his
brashness. He's a fresh, original personal-
ity, and I think his deepest instinct is to be
himself. From what he tells me of his
folks, he comes by it honestly. Dad Eythe,
a contractor in Mars, Pennsylvania, went
to see "You Can't Take It With You," said,
"That's a good idea," and never worked
again till he came out West for a lengthy
stay. Then he took a job in a war plant.
blushing fullback . . .
Katie, as her kids call Mom, is part Irish,
part Spanish, which accounts for a lot in
both Bill and herself. Katie doesn't hold
with suppressed emotions. Among other
things, she's a football fan. Bill's brother
Dutch — later, All American at Carnegie
Tech — played on the high school team. In
those days they didn't have big bleachers,
you stood on the sidelines. Katie'd go wild.
"Do it for your mother, Dutch," she'd yell.
"Do it for your mother."
With that background, it's no wonder
Bill's got the courage of his convictions.
I've heard his pals razz him. "Wearing
blue jeans and T-shirts to the Derby!
Smoking pipes bigger than your head!
Hitting the hay at 9:30! Anything to be
different. Whoya kiddin'?"
Well, he ain't kiddin'. Lives to suit
himself, not Hollywood. Wears blue jeans
because he feels good in 'em. Never owned
a Tuxedo or tails and never will, unless
he needs them for pictures. First pair of
tails he ever saw doubled him up, and he
still thinks they look like comedy relief.
A Tux is all right if you go for that kind
of stuff. He doesn't. Smokes a big pipe
because you can get more tobacco in the
bowl, don't have to keep filling it.
He never intended to be an actor. Stage
designing maybe— or some other form of
art. Only thing he wouldn't be was second
fiddle. On account of Dutch. Dutch, ten
years older, was the town hero. Bill had
no intention of living under his shadow.
Or basking in his glory either. At Car-
negie Tech, he registered under a fake
name till his father found out and talked
sense into him.
Dutch had been tops, so Bill had to be
tops, too. "If you think I'm brash now,
Hedda," he told me, "you should have
known me then. Nothing I couldn't do."
He worked his way through college.
Didn't know Aries from Taurus, but that
didn't keep him from lecturing at the Buhl
Planetarium. Toured the neighboring
towns with a children's theater. Talked
his way into writing scripts for a radio
station. Had no time to study and flunked
English. Got even with the prof by waving
a script in his face. "They paid me good
money for this. Go ahead and flunk me."
Meantime, he was acting in spite of
himself, commandeered by the dramatic
coach who needed talent and thought Bill
had some. With his funds at an all-time
low, he applied for the juvenile lead in a
musical at the Pittsburgh Civic Play-
house. The part called for two dances
with the ingenue —
"I can do 'em," said Bill.
They gave him the part and then had
to teach him to dance. By that time he'd
made an impression on the director who
used him in other productions — including
Shakespeare— and after graduation, took
him to Cohasset for his first professional
appearance with the South Shore Players.
Ruth Chatterton was one of the guest
stars that summer. In the fall she was
taking a play called "Caprice" to Canada,
and needed a juvenile. Bill would have
given his eyeteeth to go along, but a
strange transformation came over him in
Miss Chatterton's presence. By now he
worshipped the theater and its great
names. When Ruth sent for him one day,
he knew what was at stake. But instead of
braying, "I can do it better," he sat like a
bump on a log and made foolish sounds.
The interview died of malnutrition. Bill
rose. "Well, g'by, Miss Chatterton. I've
been delightful."
She whirled. "What did you say?"
Now that all was lost, his head cleared.
"I mean, it's been delightful. Now if you'll
excuse me, I'll go jump off a cliff."
"You'll stay where you are. You're go-
ing to Canada with me."
The tour lasted six weeks. Then New
York, where he met Oscar Serlin who put
him into "King's Maid." That flopped. On
his own again, he reverted to radio and his
original tactics. Got himself a job as page
boy in Radio City, then— buttons and all-
opened a door marked TELEVISION.
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"I've got a script I'd like to put on."
"Are you out of your mind?"
"Yeah, I'm a radio writer — "
"Ever done scripts before?"
"Scores of 'em—"
"Well, wait a minute. Our staff an-
nouncer's been drafted. Here — read this — "
He read half a dozen want ads and got
the job, which he found highly unstimu-
lating. Two months later he was doing his
own show on WNBT, and went on till the
war closed television down.
xmas in february . . .
He and Serlin had grown to be buddies,
so when Oscar called up and said, "I've
got a Christmas present for you."
"Fine time for a Christmas present— in
February — " , n
"Come on down and get it.
The Christmas present was the part of
Lt. Tonder in "The Moon Is Down."
"First I fainted," says Bill, "then we
went into production."
You Modern Screen readers who live in
New York may have seen the rave notices.
George Jean Nathan, who's hard to please,
said the stage had produced four great
juveniles— Rena vent, Glenn Hunter, Bur-
gess Meredith and now Bill Eythe. Nathan
wanted to tear Bill apart when he signed
a contract with Twentieth Century-Fox.
"They'll ruin you in Hollywood — "
Maybe George Jean's right. This is
Bill's sixth picture, and he's only playing
opposite Bankhead, that's all. I haven t
seen "A Royal Scandal" yet, and neither
has he. But I was on his home lot a few
days ago and bumped into Otto Preminger,
the director. He told me they'd sneaked
the picture Friday.
"How'd it go?"
"Swell. And a triumph for Eythe.
Later I met Bill, who looked confused.
"Got a new trailer and dressing room this
morning. Can't dope it out—"
"Did you know they sneaked the picture
Friday? Well, they did. I just talked to
Preminger. Let me break it to you gently,
honey. You're ruined."
sore spot . . .
Only once have I known Bill to be rude,
and in my not-too-humble opinion, he
was justified. A woman who may have
been trying to be funny— in which case,
she should have her sense of humor ex-
amined—accosted him with, "You re a fine
young man. Why aren't you in the Army?
His voice would have cut through rock.
"For the same reason you're not m the
Ziegfeld Follies. Physical disability.
It's not true that his eardrums were
shattered in "The Moon Is Down. What
happened in that play merely aggravated
the condition. An early infection of the
Eustachian tubes brought about complete
deafness at the age of 13. For a year and
a half, the outlook was black. He woulont
go to school and was tutored at home.
His closest companion was Dip, a Chow
his sister Ruth gave him. Dip slept with
hlA Pittsburgh specialist restored his
hearing. It was like dying and being born
again. He'd run around, banging tin pans
together, just to hear the noise. Dip s bark
was music. It was then that he first began
to love real music. During those months
of silence, he'd thought: "I have no pretty
sounds to remember, only birds and cows.
If I'd listened to music, at least I could
hear it in my head." The family celebrated
his recovery by buying him a phonograph,
and he's been collecting records ever since.
All through college he was fine, lnen,
as Lt. Tonder, he had to have his ears
boxed. -It was nobody's fault. Only Bill
might have realized the possible conse-
quences, and he just never thought of
them For two weeks he was deaf again.
His ears are still being treated, and the
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drums are punctured. That's why he's
not in the Army, lady.
His basic needs are fairly simple. Work.
Friends. Music. Animals. Books. Re-
cently he rented a house on a Hollywood
hilltop — so high and inaccessible that the
milk company refused to make deliveries.
So he told them he had a six-weeks-old
baby, and strung diapers on the line to
prove it. One day the milkman turned
inquisitive. "Where's that kid of yours?
Never see him around."
"Oh. He's out walking."
"You don't say! Pretty advanced for
his age."
"Oh, not on his legs — in a carriage — the
nursemaid wheels him — you know."
"Yeah," said the milkman. "Well, give
him my best regards." Sure, the milk still
comes. For you and me it wouldn't, but
for Bill it does.
Since renting the house, he's annexed
two dogs and a cat. Shillelagh, the setter
— Bonnet, the dachshund — and Galla, the
Siamese. Bonnet's the character. Does
double takes like Durante. Loves perfume.
Evenings, Bill takes them out. The dogs
run, Galla's on leash, and Bill collects
kindling. The fire's always going — even in
summer, with all the doors open. He'd
sooner live without a roof than a fireplace.
The phonograph's always going, too. The
radio he loathes. Threw one out of the
window in New York. To save money, he
was sharing a place with five boys who
were bugs on radio. Turned it on in the
morning and kept it on all day. Bill tried
to be cooperative for a while. But this
day he'd been out job hunting, and there
weren't any jobs and probably never
would be. As he opened the door, noise
smote him between the eyes. He picked
up the radio and dropped it into 11th
Street. Next thing he knew, five guys were
beating the tar out of him. He had to send
home for his own radio, but not till they'd
all put their fists to a contract — certain
hours the damn thing could be played, and
certain hours it couldn't.
On working days he's in bed by 9:30.
Wakes up at midnight and raids the ice-
box. Yearns for a garlic sandwich but
settles for cheese, out of deference to
his fellow -workers. Incidentally, he's a
Grade-A cook. It started in Mars, where
the kids helped Mom round the kitchen,
and continued in New York. Alfred Lunt,
a brilliant cook, gave a series of lessons at
the Stage Door Canteen. The fee was
purchase of a War Bond. Bill scraped
pennies to buy one and took the course.
Lunt had always been one of his idols, and
he turned fairly starry-eyed when Alfred
the Great came out with this gem of wis-
dom. "Good food has nothing to do with
recipes. That's why men make better
cooks than women. They've got more
daring and imagination. If the book says
rub the pan with garlic, woman rubs it.
Man says what the hell, and chucks in a
couple of cloves." Bill's sentiments exactly.
He's been thrown out of New York's
best eating places. Every new dish he
tried, he'd go back and ask the chef how
to make it. Now his meals are famous.
Gets his pals together Saturday nights and
feeds them. The service is something else
again — casual, let's say.
and about girls — . . .
Five guests are his limit. More than six
people in a room drive him crazy. On
bridge nights they're four. Bill's a glutton
for bridge — once played thirty-six hours
straight. Generally plays with his stand-
in, Tommy Noonan — Anne Baxter's stand-
in, Betty Adair— and Winkie. He went to
school with Winkie, who now runs a book-
shop in LA. She's the girl he sees most of.
Sometimes they doubledate with Anne and
John Hodiak. Bill and Anne used to be
rumored a romance, but he says they
My mother could have
j
i J
If only she had told me these intimate
physical facts! 99
""^^■ell it's happened. Jim has
left me and never was there
a better husband! I felt it coming —
first his 'indifference' — then a decided
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"If only I had known earlier how
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mother should have told me but
didn't."
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never were, and I m caking his word for it.
Bill hates girls who squeal at bugs and
spiders. Girls who won't bowl for fear of
breaking a fingernail — that's the type he'd
like to hit with a tenpin. Girls who use
too much make-up. Look at Ingrid Berg-
man, the most beautiful girl in the world,
and she doesn't use any.
He gets an allowance of forty a week,
and lets his manager worry over the bills
he runs up for books and records. "He
picked his own business. Let him get
ulcers." Until six months ago, money was
good for just one thing — to spend. Now
he's got three ambitions to save for.
After the war, he wants to fly his own
plane. That goes back to childhood. "I'm
gonna be a pilot," said Bill.
"No," said the folks.
"Okay then, I won't have my tonsils out.
I'll let 'em rot in my head. I'll go and drop
dead if I can't be a flyer." The doctor — a
World War I pilot — had to take him up in
a plane before he yanked the tonsils.
He wants to travel all over the world —
to places where nobody's ever been before.
He wants to be a director. Needs money
to tide him over the switch from acting.
Not a lot of money. Just enough for a
hovel, food for himself and the animals,
and wood for the fire.
How to combine the three is a headache
for later. Right now he's got another worry.
To Mother Katie Eythe, the world's best
joke is that her Bill is an actor. In Pitts-
burgh, he could always tell by her giggle
when she was in the house. The more juice
he turned on, the harder she giggled. Once,
watching him do Antony, she got so hys-
terical that he skipped two pages of the
funeral oration.
His screen success hasn't made any
difference. I don't have to tell you that
"The Oxbow Incident" was no comedy.
Yet Katie was ejected from every theater
in town. "We'll have to ask you to leave,
madam. You're disturbing the audience."
Bill's worried about the effect of his new
picture. "Wait till Mom gets a load of
those tight britches. Boy, will that be a
royal scandal!"
I SAW IT HAPPEN
A little while ago,
Dorothy Lamour
visited our small
city of Haverhill,
Mass., for a few
hours with the in-
tention of spurring
Bond sales. She had
a room at the Hotel
Whittler and was as
closely guarded as a
million dollar pay-
roll by the hotel employees. Naturally,
being in town for only a few hours,
she found it impossible to sign the
hundreds of autograph books thrust
at her by her admiring fans, so it took
a "pint-sized" Western Union boy to
manage the impossible. Being quite
well known in the hotel, he just
walked through the lobby and up-
stairs, rang Miss Lamour's bell and
announced he had a telegram for her.
Naturally, Dottie signed the receipt,
tore open the telegram and read,
"Dear Miss Lamour, I wanted your au-
tograph, but you were always mobbed
downstairs and outside. I hope you're
not mad."
As the boy flew down the hall, he
could hear Dottie and her manager
laughing uproariously.
Mrs. Miles E. Bastow, Jr.
Haverhill, Mass.
SUGAR DADDY
(Continued from page 33)
unhappily. When it became plain that she
was really desperately ill, Dick telephoned
his mother. She said the trouble might be
appendicitis, and sent over the best doctor
she knew.
No, said the doctor, it wasn't appendi-
citis.
So Dick said they might as well nego-
tiate for his services right then and have
everything settled. The doctor agreed;
he said he arranged three classes of ma-
ternity service, one for a hundred dollars,
one for two hundred dollars, one for three.
"We'll take the three hundred dollar
deal," said Dick without hesitation.
"But you haven't even heard what the
various prices cover," protested the doctor.
"Makes no difference," answered Dick
with a vigorous nod of his head. "I want
Joanne and — er — Skippy to have the best."
That's the way Junior Haymes was named
— on the spur of the moment, by his dad,
seven months before he was born. Event-
ually, he was to be christened Richard
Ralph in honor of his father and his ma-
ternal grandfather, but he will undoubt-
edly be known as Skippy to members of
his family for the rest of his life.
For the first three months of Joanne's
preparation for her young son, she was a
very sick girl. She had to be kept in the
hospital for weeks at a time where she
was fed glucose intravenously. Dick
would arrive every afternoon and sit be-
side her bed, miserably rolling and unroll-
ing a sheet of music and trying to make
gay conversation.
Fixing her with an apprehensive eye,
after having told some crazy anecdote
about the boys in the band, he would say,
"Now do you feel better?"
"Oh, you!" grinned Joanne. "Stop wor-
rying. Hundreds of babies are born every
day."
"But not to US. Gosh, I feel so help-
less. If only I could do something."
papa's little darling . . .
If, nowadays, you should invite Dick
Haymes to your home for a dinner of
Lobster Thermidor, he would look at you
as if you had just invited him to partake
of fricasseed deer antlers. Very politely,
very firmly, he would decline. This aver-
sion to shell fish of any kind arises from
his pre-parental period. Joanne developed
a frantic craving for lobster or crabmeat.
In the eerie hours of winter dawn, she
would awaken, starving. Gently, she would
shake Dick's shoulder. "Darling. I'm
ravenous for some lobster."
He would unglue his eyes, blink at the
luminous dial of the bedroom clock which
would be telling a frosted four o'clock,
then roll out and start to dress. "I'll be
right back with some lobster, honey," he
would say as he clumped drowsily across
the echoing living room. Sometimes he
would have to walk or taxi for blocks and
blocks before he would find a restaurant
with a buyable lobster, but no matter how
long it took, he always returned eventually
with the shellfish.
When the stork notified Joanne that he
was getting ready to fly through the air
with the greatest of ease, Joanne asked
her mother-in-law to do two things: (1)
broil a nice big steak and prepare a green
salad for the prospective mother who un-
derstood that they wouldn't let her eat
when she reached the hospital, and (2)
notify Dick who was in Maine, singing
with Goodman's band.
When Dick received the telegram, he
sat down hard on the nearest chair and
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_STATE_
gasped for breath. Then he sprang to the
nearest telephone, checked on railroad
schedules and made reservations. Locat-
ing Benny, Dick explained the situation.
Benny had promised that Dick could join
Joanne as soon as necessary, but he didn't
think there was much rush. "We've ad-
vertised you at a couple of spots during
the next few days, so I think you'd better
stick around," he said.
"Sorry, but I can't do that," said Dick,
and caught his train.
babbling father . . .
Having antagonized his employer and
tossed up his job, Dick forthwith antag-
onized the nurse at the hospital. First he
hurried in to see Joanne, who was a very
sick girl. She gave him a big grin and
said, "Wait until you see Skippy. He looks
exactly like you."
So Dick hurried back to the nursery to
check his heir. The nurse, busy as all
nurses are, caught up Master Haymes from
his basket, whisked him to the door, said,
"Perfectly normal, perfectly healthy baby,"
held back the blanket for ten seconds,
then turned to go.
Dick extended a restraining hand that
settled on the nurse's arm. "Just a min-
ute, please," he commanded. The nurse
was ready to explode in incendiary sen-
tences, scattering hot little words over the
scene . . . until she caught sight of
Dick's eyes. He was looking at the sleep-
ing pink mite in her arms, and great shin-
ing tears glazed the father's proud eyes
and started down his cheeks. With the
back of his fist he mopped them away.
Naturally, he hadn't told Joanne that
he was out of a job. When she quizzed
him, Dick said that Benny had given him
two weeks off. Between trips twice a
day to the hospital, Dick went scurrying
around in search of another job. He was
booked in Philadelphia on a singing date
which paid very well. It took him away
from Joanne and Skippy for two days, but
it put some jingle in his jeans . . . mo-
mentarily.
The next time he walked into the hos-
pital room, he was carrying an important
jeweler's box that he nonchalantly set
down on the bedside stand. Joanne
grabbed it with a little chortle of delight
and tore off the wrappings. A strand of
pearls shone from the black velvet depths
of the box. "For me?" squealed Joanne.
Dick didn't answer that masterpiece of
nonsensical interrogation. He simply
beamed on his pretty wife.
The day Dick took his family home from
the hospital, he was able to tell Joanne
about his severance of relations with the
Goodman combo and to announce with a
proud chest that he was set with T. Dor-
sey. The only trouble being that Dorsey
was going to California to work in Metro's
"Du Barry Was a Lady" by day, and to
play at the Palladium by night. "I'll find
an apartment," Dick promised, "and then
you and Skippy can join me just as soon
as you're well enough to travel."
In just six weeks, Joanne and Skippy
were on The Chief, scorching the Santa
Fe trail toward Hollywood. Anyone who
has traveled with a child will utter a small
sigh of commiseration for Joanne at this
point. Add to the usual difficulties the
fact that Mister Skippy was having a mi-
nor spell of colic; he wasn't sure that he
liked his formula, and he was positive
that he didn't like traveling. Joanne had
to walk through twenty-three Pullman
coaches to get to the diner where the
bottles could be heated. She always car-
ried the cylindrical glass dinners wrapped
in paper bags for purposes of sterilization,
which explains why the three handsome
ensigns didn't realize that she was a moth-
er. Whenever she went through their
car, they made with the big eye, they
gave with the sweet talk. Not to her, you
understand, but to one another, like, "My,
my what lovely scenery. Inside the car,
I mean." Etc., etc.
Finally, on Joanne's umpteenth trip, one
of them — eager to uphold the Navy's tra-
dition for valor in approaching any ob-
jective— arose, bowed charmingly, intro-
duced himself and asked, "You seem to be
pretty busy. Is there any way in which
we can be of service?"
"There certainly is," said Joanne, lead-
ing the way to her drawing room. She
opened the door and was followed into the
space by three eager boys in blue. "I
haven't had anything to eat except some
sandwiches that I packed and some fruit,
since I left New York. Will you mind the
baby while I go to the diner?"
naval strategy . . .
The American fighting man is staggered
by no battle development, however un-
foreseen. All three of them arose in-
stantly to the emergency.
When, after a grateful dinner, Joanne
returned to her drawing room, she found
lines strung and a complete baby wash
napping in the breeze. One man was
sudsing out the last kimono in the metal
wash basin; one was telling Skippy about
his most recent tour of duty; the third
was dry cleaning some spots from his
uniform, after having burped Junior
Haymes somewhat too successfully.
Dick met his family at the Pasadena
station and heard the story with a
hearty laugh. "After living in a draw-
ing room on a train for four days, you're
going to think our apartment is colossal.
Just wait until you see it! And all fur-
nished— even the living room," he boasted
It was really something. A penthouse
atop one of Hollywood's swankiest apart-
ment buildings, it had a view that you
could have sliced and sold at art exhibits;
the bathrooms were large enough to house
small echoes, and the rugs were so deep
that Dick had thought of providing guests
with skis for ease in crossing the living
room. "How much rent do we have to
pay?" gasped the Little Woman.
Dick reeled off a glib figure.
"And how much are we making?"
Dick mentioned the same figure he had
quoted for rental. "Tell you what," he
suggested, grinning, "we'll pay our rent
every day. That way we won't miss it."
"And when. do we eat?" said the prac-
tical member of the household.
Dick was crestfallen. "But, honey, I
wanted to have a nice place for you and
Skippy."
"It's a palace," laughed Joanne, rushing
into her husband's arms. "You're a
princely provider— no mistake about that."
But the next day she started apartment
hunting and within three weeks had found
a charming place at one-third the rent
By May 13, 1944, the Haymes family
had moved to a sprawling, comfortable
house in San Fernando Valley; they owned
and operated as pets two dogs, Bonnie—
a Dalmatian— and Bobby— a Schnauzer;
they also owned Skippy and his newly-
born sister, Helen Lane Haymes.
While Miss Haymes had been in the an-
gel factory getting properly outfitted with
fingers, toes and big, curious eyes, she
had been referred to in the family circle
as "Sister Susie."
Hearing a reference to this Sister Susie
person one day, Skippy asked, "Who
Susie?
"She's going to be your new baby sister.
Were going to bring her home from the
hospital by and by," explained Skippy's
mother.
When this momentous event took place
Skippy gurgled and cooed and made a
fuss over the newcomer. "My lil thithter
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Thuthie," he said in rapt admiration as
he hung over her crib.
One of the best days at the Haymes
home, as it is everywhere, is Christmas.
Skip was only five months old for his
first one, but his doting dad brought
home an electric train. A lucky selection,
because no such toy has been available
since.
In addition to this magnificent gadget
(with which Dick spent more time than
his junior partner), Skip got a menagerie
of stuffed animals, an Army truck, a tank,
a quacking duck and a little red wagon.
a snare and a delusion . . .
Along in the afternoon Joanne noticed
that Skip wasn't in the immediate vicinity.
Thinking that he had probably taken one
of his stuffed toys or some other cherished
gift to his bed and gone to sleep, she in-
vestigated. She found him sitting on the
bathroom floor. Spread out before him,
emptied from a bottle that he had pur-
loined from the medicine chest by climb-
ing from stool to wash basin, were dozens
of little brown liver pills. He was rock-
ing back and forth happily, humming to
himself. With a dainty thumb and fore-
finger he was reaching out, as he rocked
forward, picking up a pill and eating it.
Joanne screamed for Dick and told him
what happened. Together they bundled
up Mr. Skipper Haymes and scorched to
the nearest hospital, where the young
man's stomach was pumped. Luckily, his
parents had caught him in time to keep
him from suffering any ill effects.
Skip and his dad have a secret club with
which they torment the woman in their
lives. Dick, as you know, was born in
Buenos Aires and speaks fluent Spanish
He also spent a good many young years
in France and mastered that tongue, too.
Now he is teaching both languages to
young Haymes. Skip can sing the Bell
Song in French, and he's zooty with Frere
Jacques. He speaks quite as much con-
versational French and Spanish as he does
English. His mother speaks neither.
She has trouble enough with her two
joes in English. One morning she was go-
ing through a series of calisthenics, ob-
served by Dick and Skippy. At the close
of the physical training, she tried a few
steps from her ballet dancing.
Skip uttered a howl of mirth. To his
dad he said, "Oh! Get HER!"
Dick tried to look like a stern parent,
but the expression didn't jell. Somehow
the conviction in the Haymes household
is that all four of them are contemporaries
of spirit — growing up together.
108
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City ...
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TO OUR READERS
{Continued from page 29)
the reader. She wants to know how much
you can spend. Her staff will hunt bargains.
She is going to worry about whether
you're fat, thin, tall, or short. She f
going to talk about clothes in terms o
parties, school, office, falling in love, having
babies and life in general. Your life-
remember — not the Duchess's!
Answer the questionnaire on page 22,
and you will simplify her problem tremen
dousy by giving her a look at your ward-
robe budget. Henry and I promise not t
peek at your answers. Better yet, w
promise to send you absolutely free (n
stamps, no envelopes) a picture of you
favorite star!
This is only the beginning. With your
help Jean is going to deliver a youth-
conscious, bargain-conscious, glamorous
fashion department such as you and the
Duchess have never seen!
i-
l-
t
j
i
l
ALWAYS GOODBYE
(Continued from page 37)
must go on just as before, that was her
credo. That was what she thought Ty
would want, and it was what he thought
he wanted himself. The comforting pic-
ture of her in their lovely home, manag-
ing his affairs, waiting for him.
Tyrone went through boot camp at the
Marine Corps base in San Diego. It sounds
easy put that way, but if you happen to
know a guy who's done it, you know it's
not too gay. In addition to the grim busi-
ness of being a boot, Ty had to fight his
way through a few feet of frost. The
minute he got there, they began dishing
the scuttlebutt. "There's something non-
reg about this guy," they'd say. "Why'd
he enlist at Headquarters, Washington,
D. C?" "Yeah," someone else would pitch
in, "and how come they hand him four
and a half months inactive duty?"
higher and higher . . .
In time, the questions got around to Ty,
and they were answered politely and log-
ically. Seems he'd been in Washington on
business when he'd been rejected by the
Navy for a CPO rating. He was pretty
letdown about it. Pretty ashamed be-
cause Annabella was with him when the
word came. And because he hadn't felt
like wasting any time, he'd gone directly
to headquarters and enlisted. He was put
on inactive duty so that he could finish a
Navy film for 20th Century.
The air cleared gradually. Then one
day, three weeks after he'd reported at
the Recruit Depot, something kind of big
happened, and thenceforward Power was
really in. His platoon was mustered, and
a famous Marine officer passed the order.
"Private Power, front and center."
Ty stepped forward, shaking, saluted and
stood at attention as the Colonel enumer-
ated the points of his adaptability one by
one, designated him the "outstanding man
in his platoon" and presented him with
the coveted certificate attesting to it.
There were four more weeks at San
Diego after that, and all the time he saw
Annabella just once — at the training base
with a couple of hundred other Marines
and their gals standing around. There
were letters, of course, and the brief un-
satisfactory phone calls. But sometimes
seven weeks is a very long time. When
at last he came home on a pass, he was
different. Thinner, quieter.
She showed him how she had kept the
books, conducted him on a tour of the
house so that he could rave over how
well she had preserved the feeling that
this was home. He was pleased with her,
and he did rave. Then he said, "And are
you happy, darling?"
"Oh — happy." She gave a little shrug.
Who is happy when she lives with lone-
liness night and day. "I'm doing all right."
Some more time went by, and Ty was
at Officers' Candidate School at Quonset.
They threw more information at him dur-
ing the few months he spent there than
most of us could absorb in a lifetime.
He found time for letters because he's the
kind of guy who would, no matter what,
but they were brief, and even the writing
looked tired. When, at last, he got his
bars and came home on leave, he was
so weary that Annabella cancelled all the
festivities their friends had cooked up.
"You will rest," she informed him, look-
ing at the deep circles under his eyes.
After Quonset, Ty, who was a civilian
pilot with 115 flying hours, went to Corpus
Christi to become a Marine pilot, and
Annabella would trek down to see him
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whenever he was free. There was one
weekend when, the minute he saw her,
he knew she had something up her sleeve.
It was in her eyes and voice. In the grin
that kept reappearing even when she
thought her face was in repose.
'Okay," Ty said finally, "Spill it."
:'They want me to do a show, darling—
on Broadway." And it turned out that
he was just as thrilled as she was.
So late in 1943, Annabella moved out of
their dream house that perches on the
edge of a canyon in Bel -Air, the beautiful
Colonial house that was originally Grace
Moore's, and which they re-modeled and
re-decorated and loved so dearly. Anna-
bella found homes for their three beloved
dogs, left orders that the garden was to
be kept exactly as was, Ty having planted
so much of it himself, and trekked East,
thinking a little sadly of strangers sitting
in their chairs, looking at their pictures.
Broadway, here she comes . . .
She took an apartment at the Pierre
and began rehearsing "Jacobowsky and
the Colonel" just at about the same time
that Ty finished up at Corpus Christi and
got ordered to the Instrument Flight In-
structor's school at Atlanta, Georgia. That
meant six weeks of gruelling and complex
study, at the end of which time he would
not only be able to fly blind through any
kind of weather in single or multi-motored
aircraft, but he'd also be able to teach
other pilots to do the same thing.
10
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No cryin', no sighin' — 25c gets
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Ty will admit it was plenty rugged, but
what really wore him down was the extra-
curricular stuff. The gals who mobbed
him at the Officers' Club, the invitations
from organizations to speak, the bid from
the Southern Baseball League to throw in
the first ball. He finally had to do the
same thing Gable had had to do in
England. Repair to his bunk every night
about nine in order to get a touch of
solitude.
Meanwhile, he was driving poor Anna-
bella mad via air mail with his anxiety
to get overseas. "Don't talk like that down
there," she wrote him frantically. "Some-
one might hear you, and you are doing
vital work here." Just what he was doing
at that point she had no idea, it was all
so hush-hush, but if he were doing it, it had
to be vital. When her friends quizzed her
on his activities, she would say, "Very
important secret things. He is one day
in St. Louis, one day in Miami. All I
know definitely is that he is never in
New York."
And then one day he came. He phoned
her from Philadelphia to say he'd com-
pleted his cross-country check— a flight
from Atlanta to Philly on instruments—
and had a 48-hour leave. The minute she
hung up the phone she began getting
ready. She took elaborate pains with her
make-up, put on a stunning dress he had
never seen, labored over her coiffure.
"You would think," she told a friend on
the phone that day, "that I am feefteen,
getting ready for my first date." She
thought of all the things she would say
to him. Then he knocked at the door,
and she opened it, and there were no
words at all.
Sitting across from him at dinner, she
sparkled and scintillated for a while, and
then they relaxed into their old familiar
talk. "Do you like my dress?" she asked
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200 Witnesses Watch Her
Mrs. Mary Knicley, Hagerstown,
Md. wins new figure and new job.
There was no secret about what she was doing.
Her husband had suggested it. Her doctor had
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What amazed them all was the change in Mary
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cheered as the former heavyweight of the depart-
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"I feel like a 36-year-old Cinderella," says Mrs.
Knicley. "You see, I was resigned to being fat but
my husband urged and encouraged me to take the
DuBarry Success Course. Once started, I told the
girls in the office, and all 200 of them followed
my progress day by day.
"I found the Course intensely practical
starvation diet, but
plenty of the right food.
Exercises that become a
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I had no idea there was
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MRS. KNICLEY'S MEASUREMENTS
Before
WEIGHT 222 lbs.
HEIGHT 5W
BUST 46"
WAIST 39"
ABDOMEN 43"
HIP 48"
THIGH 29"
After
136 lbs.
5'6"
343/4"
28%"
32"
37l/2"
2iy2"
Changs
-86 lbs.
+W
-\Wa"
-10V2"
-11"
-W2"
-W2"
These two snapshots of Mrs. Knicley
show her, at the left, when she weighed
222 ; at the right, when she weighed 152.
Above, the slim and stately
Mary Knicley as she is to-
day—weight 136 pounds !
him, as she'd asked him so many times
before. She should have known better.
"Yeah," he told her. "I always loved
that job." It wasn't very tactful, consid-
ering he'd never laid eyes on it before,
but it was so typically Tyronese that she
wanted to hug him.
After dinner, Annabella dashed to the
theater, excited as if it were opening
night. And when she came out on the
stage, it was as if she were saying her
lines for the first time because she was
saying them for him. The whole play was
fresh and new because she was seeing it
through his eyes. After the first act, he
was waiting for her in her dressing room.
"You couldn't possibly be that good every
single night," he said.
"Not possibly, unless you were there
every single night." And they looked at
each other and wished it could be.
you talk, you talk, you talk . . .
Then an impossible thing happened. The
phone rang, and Ty's forty-eight was can-
celled. He was due to speak before the
Associated Women's Clubs of Georgia the
next morning. In the Marine Corps, you
don't ask why. You just do it.
"Those southern gals — what the heck
have they got?" Annabella tossed it off
lightly, the way you toss off anything that
matters very much these days.
"Not a thing," Ty told her, and he
kissed her quickly and left. He rode all
night, asleep on the floor of the plane,
and landed in Atlanta at five-thirty. He
got a bath, a hurried snooze, and at 11
o'clock the officers called to escort him to
where the good ladies were gathered.
"How do you feel?" they asked him.
"Tired," he said wearily.
"Have you any idea what you're going
to say to the Women's Club?"
"Yes, sir," he said. "I'll do the best I
can."
He didn't say what he had every right
to say: "Why the hell did they order me
out cross-country when they knew they
had committed me to other duty? Who
balled things up this time?" He said, "Sir,
I'll do the best I can."
They were still pouring it on when he
graduated some five days ahead of time.
The day for his final flight check came,
with rugged Lt. "Pappy" Wade as his wing
commander, Lt. Wade had fifteen instruc-
tors under his command, fourteen of whom
had made formal application with him to
make "Power's final check." Wade, as a
good Navy man would, gave the job to the
one independent Irishman who didn't give
a hoot whether he checked Power out or
not. Furthermore, at the last minute a
high-ranking officer piled into the plane
just to be sure nobody was giving Power
anything.
When the ship came down, the word was
passed, amidst congratulations, "That guy's
hot on instruments. That guy can fly."
While he proceeded from instrument
school to operational training, Annabella
continued in "Jacobowsky," discovering
that acting in the summertime is really
earning your living the hard way. You've
never been even warm until you've been
in a backstage dressing room in July. As
for the stage itself, complete with lights,
the tropics are chill by comparison. But
if you think she wished herself back in
a pink pinafore in Bel-Air, you don't
know Annabella. Next to her family, she
loves the stage better than anything in
the world. Her letters to Ty were full of
small, gay incidents. She told about the
celebrities who stayed at her hotel, Arleen
Whelan and Carmen Miranda and all the
others; her week ends in town, seeking out
a breeze; the occasional long week ends in
Connecticut when she'd play hookey from
the show for one day. She wrote funny
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"That's what my cousin said when I told her
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little stories about the kids who climbed
into the taxi with her to get her autograph;
about the time — after one of those long
week ends in the country spent sunning
and playing tennis and getting rested —
that she alighted from the train with a
fairly good-sized suitcase and was unable
to find either a porter or a cab. Finally,
she walked from 42nd Street to 61st;
arriving at her hotel in approximately the
same wilted state that she'd left it.
One day she had very great news to
tell him. She had met and spoken to
General Charles DeGaulle at a dinner in
his honor at the Waldorf, and the expe-
rience had moved her deeply. "Darling,"
she wrote, "he shook my hand, and I tried
to say something to him, but I felt so like
weeping." The man was a symbol to her
of the new France, the potential liberator
of her own family from whom she has had
no word in two years, other than the
one brief message that her brother was
killed. It was a magnificent thing for
Annabella, this encounter, reinforcing her
deep love for France. "I am like a mother
with two children," she wrote to Ty, "one
is ill and weak, and that is France. One
is fat and strong, and that is America. I
love them both devotedly."
Not long ago, Ty told her that he would
have just a few more weeks in the States.
She knew it was coming some day, that
news, still when it came, it shook her.
But they would have ten long days to-
gether, and Annabella, for one, would pre-
tend they'd never end.
There were lovely walks along Fifth
Avenue. Looking in the windows of Saks,
stopping at St. Patrick's, having tea in
the leisurely atmosphere of the Plaza.
After the theater in the evening, there'd
be supper at the Stork or 21, or maybe
just a colossal hamburger at one of the
joints. And then came the happiest of
the whole ten days — when Annabella got
word that she was going overseas with the
USO in "Blithe Spirit." She and Ty took
a walk through Central Park and talked.
never say good-by . . .
"Being so busy over there will help the
restlessness," Annabella told him.
"The restlessness?"
"Oh, darling, you must see how now I
have the jitters. I cannot sit still."
He smiled into the calm, untroubled face
she always contrives to present to him.
"I'd never have known. You're a swell
actress."
"In the beginning," she mused, "it was
sort of exciting and new, being a war
wife. It was the same feeling I have at the
beginning of a long trip. I felt fresh and
alert and as if I were embarking on an
adventure. Gradually the scenery has
come to look all the same. Gradually the
fellow travelers are less stimulating. Now
I am at the stage where I am sitting with
my hat and coat on. I am looking at my
watch . . ." They stopped walking for a
minute and turned to each other. Anna-
bella's voice dropped to a whisper, "Oh,
darling, how I wish we'd get there."
He held her hand tight, and they walked
along again talking about where they'd
meet the next time. Maybe in London or
Paris. Maybe on a little dot in the Pacific.
They talked about Annabella's little girl,
Anni, and how well she loves her school
in Maryland. They talked about what they
wanted for Christmas, and eventually, they
just talked about the squirrels in the park
and the budding trees.
Too soon their ten days ran out, and he
was off again, the handsome, dark -haired
Marine flyer. Once more the small, lonely
word was whispered. "Goodbye, darling."
And this time was the hardest, and yet
not the hardest. Because they know that
when he comes home next time, they'll
never have to say it again.
LIFE WITH MOTHER
(Continued from page 35)
A conference decided that Shirley and her
mother should go ahead.
It was delicious. A little like running
away. They arrived in Chicago at seven
in the morning, and for once there were
no photographers, no studio representa-
tives. They were just like any mother and
daughter traveling on business. Elated,
they summoned a taxi and gave him the
name of their hotel. Then, they asked
if he could roll up the window of his cab
as a breeze was coming in off the lake
that threatened to take the enamel off the
teeth of anyone brave enough to laugh
to wind'ard. "Can't," said the driver.
"Thing's stuck that way."
The Temples squinted at each other,
then at the window. It was set at an angle
seldom seen outside the frame of a cubist
painting, and it chattered like the caboose
of a rattlesnake. This will explain why
they arrived at the hotel bundled to the
chin and blue of complexion.
The clerk at the desk said there was no
room available for them; they could have
breakfast, now being served in the dining
room, or they could sit in the lobby and
wait. They elected to have breakfast
and toddled into a huge room, dotted here
and there with business breakfasters as
aloof and widely spaced as Siberian hot
dog stands. Shirley and her mother ex-
changed glances again. It was incredible
that they should be alone like this.
At that moment a grande dame sailed
into the room. She was tall, silver-haired
and gracious. She swept the Temples a
regal glance. "Good morning, Shirley," she
said with a brief, formal smile and con-
tinued to her table in the far corner of the
room. Neither Shirley nor her mother had
ever seen the woman before in their lives,
but she had greeted them as if she a),
lived in the same hotel with them, and b) .
had known them all her life.
This was too much for Shirley. She went
into hysterics, and her mother — infected —
hid shaking laughter behind her napkin.
After breakfast, they rested for a few
hours, then went for a long sight-seeing
walk. They found it to be divine, simply
to be tourists. Gone were police escorts,
tight schedules allowing twenty minutes
here, forty minutes there.
They were private citizens; they ogled
shops, they took in the sights.
But that afternoon the newspapers were
notified by the hotel that famous guests
were registered, and the hookey holiday
was ended. Shirley and her mother had to
go back to the work of being public
personages.
hope welles . . .
That evening, by which time Mr. Temple
and the rest of the entourage had caught
up with the runaways, the family was
seated at dinner when an equally famous
Hollywood personage espied them in the
dining room and strode over to greet them.
Mrs. Temple, faced in that direction, saw
him coming and — like any woman — sought
to tip off her family. "Here comes," she
announced softly, "Bob Hope."
Shirley turned around, her face a Christ-
mas tree of illuminated expectancy as she
knows and admires Bob very much. But
the man who pulled up a chair and joined
the Temples briefly was Orson Welles.
This was too good to keep. Mr. Temple
told a few interested bystanders, and that
night when Bob Hope actually arrived,
Shirley's father greeted the Irium man
with "How are you, Mr. Welles?"
This small Chicago anecdote is not im-
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114
Name
Address.
City
_Staie_
portant because it concerns Shirley Tem-
ple and her mother, but because it illus-
trates what should be the ideal relationship
between any sixteen-year-old girl and her
mom. A mother should be the person to
whom a disgruntled, weary or heartsick
daughter can turn without a moment's
hesitation; she should be the source of
understanding, comfort, comradeship . . .
and fun. That Mrs. Temple fulfills every
need is high tribute to her good sense and
her great heart.
Although Shirley's life has been sin-
gularly free of disappointments, there was
one fairly serious one several years ago.
Shirley and her mom had read a book
(incidentally, before any book is started
in the Temple household, it is agreed who
shall read it first, who second, and so on
down the line) ; this particular book dealt
with the exploits of a small girl during
the Revolutionary War. Mrs. Temple had
been first on this book list, but she said
little when she turned the last page; after
Shirley finished it, she ran to her mother
with the sparkling statement, "I wish the
studio would buy this story for me.
Wouldn't it be a good part?"
Mrs. Temple, who had thought so from
Page 2, nodded. Tentatively, a week later,
she mentioned the word to studio officials.
They were busy, about to meet someone
for luncheon, or faintly deaf.
Time molasses-ed on.
Shirley said one day, "Do you think I'm
too old for that story, now, Mummy?"
Mrs. Temple scrutinized her growing
daughter. "No, not yet," she decided. A
few more years passed without anyone
taking any interest in Shirley's dream.
"I'm definitely too old to play the part
now, don't you think?" Shirley demanded
on one of her blue days.
"Yes, but don't let that bother you. If,
remembering all the pictures that have
been made since we first thought of that
book as a screen play, you should re-read
the story now, I imagine you'd find that it
wasn't as important as we thought it was."
black satin blues . . .
Sometimes the Temples, mere et fllle,
are in disagreement over the merits of a
literary work. Recently they read Somer-
set Maugham's "The Razor's Edge."
They have been arguing mildly over it
ever since, a condition that Mrs. Temple
considers useful in developing the literary
tastes of both. Mrs. Temple liked the book
and can give ten lucid reasons why. Shir
ley disliked parts of it and is working up
her bill of particulars with gusto.
Another minor disagreement in the Tem-
ple household has to do with clothing.
Most of the time Mrs. Temple is in com-
plete accord with Shirley's selections; she
admires her daughter's sense of color
(Shirley wears a great deal of blue) and
thinks the twin sweater sets Shirley al-
ways wears to school are very attractive.
But once in awhile Shirley gets an idea
for a date dress that gets vetoed by Mom.
They were shopping for something
slightly swoopy one afternoon when Shir-
ley did a double -orb and said she'd like
to see that black satin suit, please. "Oh, I
don't think so, dear," from Mrs. Tem-
ple.
"But it's so youthful!" insisted Shirley,
fastening her argument on the one word
constantly stressed by her mother. "See,
this little insert around the bodice is VERY
girlish, and the black velvet revers on
the jacket are almost junior edition."
"If you're asking me, I still think 'no',
but it's your money, and you have to de-
cide this for yourself."
Usually this sentence is cue enough for
Shirley; she decides against the purchase,
but not this time. She tried on the black
satin suit. She said to her mother, "You
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can see how completely ingenue I look."
Mrs. Temple shook her head. Shirley
turned back to the mirror. Something
about the cut of the trig jacket, the drape
of the short skirt made a "no" decision
impossible. "I'm sorry, Mother, but I've
just got to have it."
A few hours later they were hat shop-
ping for Mrs. Temple, who likes her cha-
peau to be very small or very large. Shir-
ley is a standpatter for the medium brim.
But, when Mrs. Temple espied a broad-
brimmed black hat, Shirley suddenly as-
sumed her mother's satin-dress expression.
"Uh-huh," she protested. "But," she ad-
mitted with a sigh, "it's your money, and
you have to decide this for yourself."
So Shirley carried home her black satin
suit, and Mrs. Temple took her black,
wide-brimmed hat, and neither has had
much wear of her purchase since.
Although the routine relationship be-
tween Shirley and her mom is gay, kid-
ding and casual, the deep underlying ten-
derness between them occasionally comes
to the surface. When Shirley was ten,
her mother was taken to the hospital for a
critical operation. It was the first time in
Shirley's life that she had been away
from her mother. Their lives had been
more closely intertwined than those of the
average mother and daughter, because —
in the studio — it was required that Mrs.
Temple be with Shirley all the time. They
arrived together early in the morning,
went straight to Shirley's dressing room or
her bungalow. From there they went to
the school room or to wardrobe, hair-
dressing or the portrait gallery. Day in
and day out, their every waking moment
was spent together.
Then, abruptly, Mom was the quiet,
resting lady in a tall hospital bed, and
Shirley was emotionally on her own. Dur-
ing that month Shirley grew up.
captain shirley . . .
One day she knew her mother must be
particularly ill because Mr. Temple himself
took Shirley on her daily visit to the hos-
pital. Afterward he asked his small daugh-
ter what she would like to do. "Something
that you've always thought would be fun,"
he specified.
She sensed that it was important to him
that she think up a first-class diversion.
"I want to visit the police station," she de-
cided, pinch-hitting about a thousand.
Mr. Temple knew the police officials,
and he complied. It was a great day.
Shirley's father was made an honorary
police lieutenant, which set him up con-
siderably. Then Shirley was made an hon-
orary police captain, ■ outranking a new
lieutenant. To this day she kids him
about it, and it made a great bit of non-
sense to tell Mrs. Temple the next day.
As long as she lives, Shirley will never
forget the day her mother was brought
home from the hospital. For a month,
with everyone at home excepting her
mother, the place had seemed deserted.
And suddenly, with that laughing presence
around — even if she had to be very care-
ful and remain in bed a good deal of the
time for another month — the house seemed
busy, purposeful and happy.
Mrs. Temple has had some bad moments
over Shirley, too. There was the night
when Mr. and Mrs. Temple were bringing
Shirley home from the studio when she
was working in "Little Miss Marker." She
liked to sit alone in the back seat, her
small back braced against the cushions,
her short legs extended straight ahead.
In this position she could press the toe
of one foot against the door handle.
On this particular evening Mr. Temple
made a fast left hand turn . . . and the
door flew open. He applied the brakes,
(Continued on page 118)
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Joseph Cotten loves to eat, but we suspect his cooking ability is limited
to spreading mustard on hot dogs ... as he is doing here under the watchful
eye of Jennifer Jones, co-star in Paramount's new film, "Love Letters."
What's Cookin', America?
Courtesy Corning Glass
South of the Mason and Dixon line they're justly famous for their
flaky biscuits and interesting ways of preparing ham. And, as a
116 case in point, here's a Ham Casserole which combines these talents.
■ In his stock-company days, blond, handsome, six-
feet-two Joseph Cotten used to look around nervously
whenever he heard anyone say "Virginia ham!" For
Joseph is a native of "ole Virginny." Though he
didn't stay there very long, he has never been able
to lose the languid accent of his native state. He's
been a professional football player in Washington.
D. C, a house painter in New York (a mighty good
one, too!) and maker, packer and distributor of
potato salad in Miami, Fla.— you couldn't tempt him
with a trunkful now! Currently acting in front of
Paramount cameras in "Love Letters," Joseph will
next co-star with Ingrid Bergman in "Dawning,"
the first 1945 picture on the Selznick International
schedule, to be released by United Artists.
His first role as an actor was that of a pianist at
the Miami Civic Theatre — and just to show you what
happens to little boys who don't practice their
piano lessons — he couldn't even play Peter, Peter,
Pumpkin-Eater. Fashion editor Lenore Kipp took
pity on him, went backstage and played for him. Now,
as Mrs. Cotten, she's still doing all the piano playing
for the family. And, because Joseph is her favorite
man, she tries to carry Virginny back to him with
some of those marvelous foods for which that state
is famous.
Joseph or any other Virginian will tell you that
most of the day's irritations are due to breakfast-
skimping. The Continental breakfast, for instance,
with a mere roll and cup of coffee or chocolate. No
sensible Virginian would fly into the day's work
without refueling at a breakfast table staggering with
fragrant, appetizing foods. So, before Joe starts off
for the studio, Lenore gives him beautiful, country-
fresh eggs, crusty brown hot breads and little pork
By Nancy Wood
sausages with apple or peach fritters. Some
morning there are waffles with honey or
whole wheat pancakes. Remember Little
Black Sambo who ate 169 pancakes?
Joseph says they must have been the
Virginia Whole Wheat variety!
Lenore Cotten told us a lot about the
cookery of her husband's home state.
Traditionally, there is a heavy dinner at
noon with such delicacies as the famous
Virginia ham, chicken pudding, fried
oysters, crab soup, squab pilau, corn cus-
tard, sweet mango pickles, spoon bread,
fried corn, baked sweet potatoes and clear
wine-red jellies, spicy apple butter and, of
course, hot breads. Then there is the
blissful business of deciding on one of the
several desserts. Although Joseph doesn't
limit himself to a single favorite, he per-
sonally rates Fruit Scallop tops!
Here, just in time for mid-winter morn-
ings, is that Apple Fritter recipe mentioned
by Mrs. Cotten as a breakfast special, but
equally good as a dessert served with a
simple lemon or cinnamon sauce:
APPLE FRITTERS
4 tart apples
2 teaspoons lemon juice
cup powdered sugar
1 cup sifted enriched flour
Vi teaspoon salt
1 tablespoon sugar
1 teaspoon baking powder
2 eggs, well beaten
V2 cup milk
Pare and core apples. Cut in Vi inch
crosswise slices. Sprinkle with lemon juice
and powdered sugar and let stand while
preparing batter. Sift flour once. Measure.
Add salt, sugar and baking powder and sift
again. Blend well-beaten eggs and milk.
Add to flour and blend. Dip apple slices
in batter and saute in bacon fat until
golden brown. Serve hot, sprinkled with
sugar and cinnamon. Serves 6.
Girls, if you're getting ready to be
the world's best, most indulgent wife
to that service man when he returns,
you'll want to try the recipes in this
month's leaflet of Virginia favorites.
The Ham Casserole, for instance,
is an inspiration when you have just
enough ham left over to flavor other
ingredients with its smoky goodness.
Top it with crunchy biscuits, as pic-
tured on the opposite page.
Virginia Spoon Bread is typical
of the recipes Lenore Cotten collects.
Serve piping hot with butter or
margarine, honey, corn syrup or
molasses. Delicious for breakfast.
When you have guests coming, and
there's a big gap in Ration Book No.
4, give them that Virginia Tidewater
specialty — plump, golden-brown
Fried Oysters.
While, of course, no collection of
Virginia recipes would be complete
without one for chicken! So we're
including one for Old Dominion
Chicken Pudding, delicately flavored
with herbs. Also given in the leaflet
are those Whole Wheat Pancakes and
the Fruit Scallop we mentioned. A
gal could work up a real following
with any of these. So be sure to
send in for your free leaflet con-
taining these Joseph Cotten special-
ties. (Please enclose a stamped, self-
addressed envelope.)
THE MODERN HOSTESS, Dept. L. M.
MODERN SCREEN MAGAZINE
149 Madison Ave., New York 16, N. Y.
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118
(Continued from page 115)
his face going ashen and jerked around
in the same instant to see his quick-witted
daughter lying face downward in the back
seat, hanging on for dear life. Mrs. Temple
was sitting as rigid and cold as a snow
woman, too apprehensive for action. I
don't dare look," she whispered.
"It's all right," soothed Mr. Temple.
"Shirley's a smart girl; she did the sensible
thing."
Then Mrs. Temple began to cry.
An even more narrowly escaped accident
took place on the set of "I'll Be Seeing
You." Shirley was studying her script
before a small gas heater. The script was
bound in six or eight places by celluloid
rings that abruptly flamed, having been
overheated by the flame. Shirley out-
leaped Nijinski, getting away efficiently
from the script that burned entirely be-
fore an extinguisher could be fetched.
A week later Mrs. Temple told Shirley,
"I'm still seeing that script, night after
night in my dreams, as it burst into flame.
You could have been horribly burned. . . .
The whole thing gives me chills."
"That wasn't the effect it had on me,"
grinned her daughter. "I was warm for
the first time in days."
One of the nicest things about Mrs.
Temple, from a daughter's standpoint, is
her willingness to let her girl grow up,
her readiness to accept Shirley as an adult.
Take the crucial matter of lipstick, the
battle department in many a home.
From the time Shirley was a little girl,
Mrs. Temple always added a touch of lip-
stick to Shirley's mouth for photographic
purposes. The lipstick was barely applied,
then it was all but erased by kleenex
while Mrs. Temple issued a few sentences
of propaganda such as, "There— that's
pretty, Shirl. A little lipstick is lovely,
but a lot is ugly."
Came then the day when Shirley was
allowed to wear a little lipstick to her first
parties. She was entrusted to apply it
herself. Maybe it was a little heavy at
first, but gradually— wearying of the nov-
elty—Shirley began to use less and less.
Currently she uses a vivid red, but she
applies it so carefully that it doesn't come
off on cups or napkins.
When she is tired or hasn't been feeling
well, she uses a faint brush of light pink
rouge, but usually she has natural roses.
She also uses a dash of powder across
nose and chin.
About two years ago she began to notice
how nice the "older" girls looked in their
high heels. Several times, when passing
shops in Westwood or Beverly Hills, she
lagged behind to stare covetously at spec-
tator pumps. "Why don't you try on a
pair to see how you could manage the
heels?" suggested Shirley's mother.
Do a duck swim?
They strolled out of the shop with a pair
of medium-high heeled shoes under Shir-
ley's arm and an expression of bliss on the
Temple face. Said Mrs. Temple, "I thought
you looked very nice, Shirl. Just remem-
ber to take shorter steps than you would
in saddle oxfords, and keep your stockings
pulled tightly so they're neat around your
ankles."
That Christmas was an important one.
While Shirley and her mother had been
collaborating on family Christmas pur-
chasing, Shirley saw an out-of-this-world
ermine jacket. It was simple enough, made
with a round collar, two bobs at each side,
and swirly sleeves, but it was the epitome
of a dream. Since she had been big
enough to be covered by a coat made from
forty-four mouse pelts, she had dreamed of
the day when she would have an ermine
coat. With mammoth subtlety she said to
her mother, "That ermine jacket is pretty,
isn't it?"
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"Where, Shirl? Oh, there. Yes," she
agreed absently, "it's very pretty."
"How old need a person be to wear that
sort of jacket, would you think?"
"What? Oh, that jacket. Mmm . . . now
what else ought we to get for your dad?
Have you heard him say . . . ?"
Over her shoulder, as they left the de-
partment, Shirley said a fond goodbye to
her dream — at least for another year.
Christmas Eve, she opened her packages
in a rush, hauling out delicious loot by the
boatload. Over there under the tree was
a huge box that she saved for the last; it
was obviously the new bathrobe she
needed, so it could wait while she un-
wrapped the dozens of surprises. At last,
through a welter of tissue paper and rib-
bon, she hauled the bathrobe box and
opened it. Fourteen squeals of sheer de-
light go here. It was, of course, the ermine
jacket, representing Shirley's favorite gift
to date.
Mrs. Temple's favorite gift is one with
a history. Several years ago, when the
Temples were East on business, Shirley
fell in love with a clip displayed in the
jewelry shop in the Waldorf. Slipping
away from Mrs. Temple one day, Shirley
and her father priced the clip, which con-
sisted of two roses — one platinum, one rose
gold — set with real stones. When Shirley
heard the number, reeled off by a non-
chalant salesman, she blinked. "Let's think
it over," she whispered to her father.
Returning to their suite, Shirley secured
a sheet of paper and a pencil and en-
gaged in math. She found that, on her
then current allowance of $5.00 per month;
the purchase of that lapel ornament would
cost her every cent of her allowance until
she was 21. A grim situation. She went
to her father, a banker, about it, and
was told about some special accounts in
her name from which, under such an
emergency, she could extract the necessary
sum. It was a great moment, the actual
purchase of the gift, equalled only by the
moment when Mrs. Temple opened the
package and was assured that Shirley, un-
aided, had selected it.
"I may not be the luckiest mother in
the world, Shirl," she said tremulously,
"but until someone comes along to dispute
my claim, that's the way I'm going to
describe myself."
"I'm lucky, too," said Shirley, giving her
mother that celebrated dimpled smile.
All of which proves what can be done
without the help of a four-leaf clover if
two people believe in each other.
I SAW IT HAPPEN
When Judy Gar-
land was in her
early teens, she
made a personal
appearance at our
leading theater.
Hearing that she
was scheduled to
model frocks at our
largest department
store, a group of us
decided to go down
to catch a glimpse of her. Finally she
appeared, looking smart and sophis-
ticated in a silver fox coat. She was
about to hold up some dresses for
display when suddenly she cried, "My
mother! I can't see my mother!" The
mike carried her voice clearly, and
it proved to us that the suave-looking
star in the magnificent fur coat was
just a nervous little girl who had lost
sight of her mother in the huge, ad-
miring crowd.
Mrs. Albert Manchester,
Riverside, R. I.
Jiat a SOUKfiAU. I
marrie
led!
"He has no reason to shout at me so!"
Jane kept telling herself. But there was a
deep, hidden reason for Bill's sharp words !
Something he hinted one day. Puzzled,
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SITROUX
TISSUES
DREAM MAN
(Continued from page 43)
the pneumonia he had battled during the
making of the picture. Anxious studio
guardians had him by the elbow, rushing
him here and dragging him there. This
afternoon he was to make his first coast-
to-coast broadcast on the Kate Smith Hour.
As he stepped down from the car, he
ran smack into a mob of young admirers —
the first Alan Ladd fans he had ever faced
in the flesh. They swarmed around him
like bees. "Mr. Ladd, can I have your auto-
graph? . . . Sign this, please . . . Have you
got a picture? . . . Here . . . Please . . . Me!
. . . Me! . . . Write my name!"
Alan paused for a moment, stunned.
This had never happened before because
nobody had ever paid any attention to
him before. The radio people started to
hustle him brusquely through the mob.
But Alan held back. He knew he was
late for the show. But he was touched
and appreciative.
"If you'll wait until I come out," Alan
promised, "I'll sign autographs for all of
you." Then he was whisked inside.
from papeete to peoria . . .
But when he came out, his managers
didn't want to risk any foolishness. They
steered him out another door and hustled
him into a taxicab before Alan knew
what was happening. But the throng of
admirers spied him and chased the cab,
and Alan, looking back, saw one kid's
face fading in the distance. It wore
a disappointed, injured look, and his shout
rang as a reproach —
"Mr. Ladd!" he cried, "You promised
. . . you promised!"
Alan saw that kid's face all evening, and
that night in his room at the Waldorf, he
made a vow to Sue.
"I don't care how famous I get or what
success I have," Alan promised, "I'll never
pass up anybody who wants to talk to me.
I'll never refuse an autograph or snub a
fan. If they're interested in me, I'm inter-
ested in them. They aren't just fans —
they're friends."
Alan has kept that vow and that out-
look on his millions of fans. He's kept it
so earnestly that today he has the greatest
circle of real friends any Hollywood star
has ever had. They live all over the world
— from Papeete to Peoria. They flood
him with hundreds of letters a day, telling
Alan all about themselves, their problems,
good times, hopes, plans and the little
things that happen in their daily lives.
And Alan replies in kind. Because Alan
hasn't yet sent out a stock letter or
a canned reply since he became a star.
It's a lot of trouble that most Holly-
wood stars don't bother with, but it
isn't trouble to a guy who likes friends
and has known what it is to be lonesome.
In fact, it's the biggest reward he's had
from his movie fame.
One day, chatting with Al over a late
lunch, I remarked that keeping in touch
personally with the flock of pen-friends
he has all over the globe must be a job
built for a typewriter factory. "Look,"
Al said earnestly, "you say it's a lot of
trouble. Well, what about this?" He
handed me a letter he was carrying around
with him.
"Dear Al," it read, "thanks for your
swell letter. It did me a lot of good
because I get plenty blue sometimes. It
isn't exactly a picnic here in this hospital.
But I've got a confession to make. I didn't
write you that last letter myself. My
pal did it for me. I hope you don't mind.
But you see, I can't write them myself.
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I haven't any hands." That one was from
somewhere in Italy.
"Whenever I hear anyone say — 'How can
you take the trouble to write?' well,
I just think of that guy. Was it trouble
for him?"
Not long after Alan was discharged from
the Army, he was having dinner one night
with Sue in a fancy Hollywood restaurant
they rarely frequent. A soldier limped
in on a cane, spied Alan and started
through to get an autograph. Alan saw
the headwaiter halt him.
Alan jumped right up, walked into the
crowd and introduced himself to the sol-
dier. "This gentleman's sitting with me,"
he told the waiter. He took him back to
the table, bought him drinks and invited
him to dinner. The soldier didn't say
much; he wasn't a talkative guy. But
his eyes got a little shiny, and Alan
sensed something back of it. Finally, it
came out: "Nobody's been like this to me,"
he said, "since I got back. You'll have to
excuse me."
That was enough for Ladd. "Come on
home with us," he invited. "You can bunk
at our house and stay as long as you like."
So they took him home, and he stayed
three days. Only then did Alan find out
that that particular soldier wore the Pur-
ple Heart, that he was just out of an Army
hospital for shrapnel wounds that had
split his kneecap and crippled him. That he
hadn't had a home since he was thirteen.
That he was as lonesome as a kitten in
a dog kennel.
g.i. haven . . .
"Okay," Alan told him, "then we're your
family. Do what you like. The house
is yours." The soldier stayed almost a
week, roaming around the house, playing
with the Ladd pup, Jezebel, and wheeling
Baby Alana out for her sun baths. They
never made company of him, and he loved
it. He was a perfect guest and friend,
and he still writes Alan and Sue, "Dear
Family."
Nor is he the only one. There's another
soldier Alan and Sue picked up one night
as they were driving home from a movie.
He looked forlorn and lonely standing on
a corner of Hollywood Boulevard with his
hands in his pockets. Alan pulled over and
told him to hop in and come on over to the
house. Sure enough, it turned out this
soldier had just lost his dad, an Army
Colonel, who had been all the family he
had. So the Ladd circle gained another
member, who doesn't miss a week report-
ing on his activities wherever the war takes
him.); He calls Alan "Buddy" and Sue,
Sis.
It sounds funny, but Alan has really
made more service pals since he was dis-
charged from the Army than he did when
he was a G.I. himself But it's not so funny
when you realize that when he was on
duty, Alan had only his own outfit to get
acquainted with, while now, through the
mail and through his wartime hobby of
picking up guys in uniform, he's in touch
with thousands.
Maybe it's because Alan knows he can't
hand out top-notch entertainment like
Bob Hope or Bing Crosby. "I can't sing or
tell jokes, and I know it," Alan has told
me twenty times if he's told me once. So
he feels his best bet is to have as many
boys up to his place as he can and give
them the one thing he's got plenty of, real
friendship.
What always surprises him, too, is the
fact that most service guys he meets
have pretty much the same idea. They'd
rather be homefolks in his house, sprawled
out on a big sofa, shooting the breeze
playing ping-pong or records in the den'
than they would hitting the Hollywood
hot spots.
A sailor came up to Alan after a radio
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show one evening. He only wanted an
autograph, but he flashed such a swell
smile and seemed so friendly that it
wasn't any time at all until he was in the
car with Sue and Alan headed homewards.
He bunked there that night and revealed
that he'd had a pretty rugged time of it
while on active service. He'd been on an
aircraft carrier that went down when the
Japs ganged it and had lain in a hospital
for long months with malaria and was just
now getting back into shape. • The Ladds
liked him a lot, and they figured a record
like that called for a little fun. So they
made reservations at Mocambo for a big
evening and told the sailor to invite his
girl friend and a few other couples — the
party was on them.
Well, the gob didn't say much, except,
"Why, thanks, that'll be real nice." And
Alan and Sue were a little let down. He
didn't sound enthusiastic. Finally, the
sailor blurted out, "Say, would you-all
mind if we have that party at home? It's
my birthday," he explained, "and I used
to always spend that day at home."
"I'll bake a cake," grinned Sue. She did,
too, and the sailor's friends came up,
banged the piano and filled up on birthday
cake and ice cream.
Of course, plenty of the fan friends
Alan meets want to see what every visitor
to Hollywood want to see — pictures in pro-
duction. There's a wartime ban on visitors
at the studios, but several lucky times
Alan has managed to bamboozle the gate-
men and studio cops and sneak in some
GJ.'s for a quick look. And both Alan
and Sue are headaches to the ushers at
CBS and NBC in Hollywood. He hasn't
made one radio program without trailing
along fifteen or twenty Ladd legionnaires—
always without tickets.
"But Mrs. Ladd," the panicked ushers
protest. "There are tickets for all these
seats. They're all -reserved. What are we
going to do?"
"Oh, you can squeeze them in somehow,
can't you?" Sue pleads with her most
hypnotizing smile — and they usually can.
I might as well state right here, whether
Laddie likes it or not, that plenty of
the people he meets are swooneroo girls.
And that's a funny thing about Alan Ladd
and his fans. Guys like him — none of them
have ever razzed him, and the only time
a service guy came close to it was once at a
Lux Radio Theater broadcast right before
Alan went into uniform. He was all in-
ducted and due to report to Fort Mac-
Arthur that week, but he managed to get
in a Lux radio performance of "China"
before he left Hollywood.
In the mob that night as he left, a sol-
dier wisecracked, "Aw nuts! He's just a
Hollywood glamour guy — what's all the
fuss about?" But another GI put him
straight right then. "Yeah?" he said.
"Well, the guy's already in the Army—
whaddya think of that?" And the razzing
soldier said, "Oh"— and shut up. And
that's been the attitude most men, soldiers
and civilians, have taken toward Alan ever
since. They know he's a regular guy and
they know he's been on Uncle Sam's team
and will probably play a few more quarters
when the Army docs okay him back in.
surpassing sinatra . . .
But while Alan gets along great with
fellows — he's also tops with the girls, from
the bobby sock brigade to the girdle group.
And I'll have to tell what happened the
night he acted (and sang) on Frank
Sinatra's show.
It's a radio habit of Alan's to keep his
eyes glued to his script from the minute he
steps out to the mike until the red light
has winked off and the show's off the air.
In spite of all the experience he's had
before cameras, he's still subject to mild
attacks of stage fright.
But there's always one time when Alan
looks right out in the audience. As he
walks up to the mike, he always looks out
to where Sue sits and smiles at her — just
as if to say, "Okay, Sweetie — here I go!"
Well, when he did that on the Sinatra pro-
gram, the Sinatra Squealers-and-Yippers
Club went nuts! They even squealed and
shrieked and sighed more for Alan than
they did for Frankie!
In fact, not long after that, Alan was on
a big all-male star program with Harpo
Marx, Bing Crosby, Fred Astaire and Kay
Kyser. The great Bingo himself drew
only applause. But when Alan came out
and grinned into the crowd — what followed
sounded like a mess of Scotch bagpipes
running wild.
So Bing kidded Alan all over the stage
that night. "I'll never let a thing like this
happen to me again," he cracked. "Next
time I want a tough guy, I'll bring Eddie
G. Robinson!"
The crowd, I might add, was strictly
female. It was a recruiting rally for the
WAVES and WACS.
But there's a funny thing about Alan's
girl fan-friends: They have the darndest
crushes on Alan, they sigh and moan and
squeal and tag him their dream man — but
the one they seem to pick on to tell about
all this is his wife!
One night after a radio broadcast, Sue
left Columbia Broadcasting a little while
after Alan had gone out to the car. On
her way, she passed a couple of girls with
autograph pads. But one of the girls was
crying as if her heart would break.
Sue went up. "Why, what's the matter,
honey?" she asked.
"Mrs. L-Ladd," sobbed the girl. "I just
went up and kissed Alan — and he acted
like he didn't like it a bit! O-h-h-h,
a-h-h-h— W-a-a-h!"
"Why, I'm sure he did," soothed Sue.
"I'll go out and ask him right now." So
she went out to the car and told Alan
the sad state of affairs. He said it wasn't
that he didn't like the kiss — but to tell the
truth, it had scared him to death and
maybe he'd showed it. Anyway, he went
back with Sue and cheered the girl up.
He said he was flattered to have a pretty
girl kiss him, but after all, it was a little
sudden. The bobby-sock's face lit up, and
she stopped wailing pronto.
Alan's always that way to young kids
with a smite on him. Whenever he thinks
he might be making somebody unhappy,
he's right there to iron it all out. And
Sue, who isn't worrying about anybody
taking Alan away from her for a minute,
calls him "sweet" for the kind way he
treats them.
One night, the Ladds came home early
in the evening with a couple of sailors
they'd picked up. On the way into their
house they noticed a couple of girls walking
up and down out front. Later, the sailors
and Sue and Alan went out for an evening,
and when they got back home, it was
one o'clock. The girls were still there,
strolling up and down, and this time the
Ladds knew what was up. They were
sticking around to get a look at Alan, after
finding out somehow where he lived.
"Poor kids," said Sue, "out there this
hour of night. Let's invite them in."
"Sure," Alan grinned. He walked across
the lawn. "How'd you like to come in for
a Pepsi and see the house?" How'd they
like to! When the girls had sipped a
Pepsi and seen the Ladds at home, they
said their thank-you's and started to leave.
"You kids can't go home this hour of
night by yourselves," Alan told them. So
he and Sue drove them home.
More than once his private phone num-
ber has leaked out to high schools around
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Los Angeles, and he's been flooded with
calls. He's had long distance ones, collect,
too (which he doesn't accept), and some
prepaid (which he does). People have
strolled by, snapped the number on his
house and circulated that around. But that
has happened to every star in Hollywood
who doesn't live on a mountain peak or in a
desert cave. But by now Alan can tell
when he's got a real fan-friend or when
it's only a curious jokester.
The real McCoy's may break in on Alan's
privacy in awkward moments, but if he
thinks they're sincere admirers, they al-
ways get the best welcome he can offer.
One afternoon recently, Alan was in
the backyard busy at his favorite Sabbath
sport, getting himself covered from head
to foot in the good earth of his garden,
when a group of youngsters rang the front
bell. Sue reported their arrival to Alan.
"They want to take your picture," she
said. "And you look like a ditchdigger.
They'll be awfully disappointed."
"Look," Alan replied. Tell them if
they'll wait until I go upstairs, take a
shower and clean up, I'll pose for them."
model subject . . .
And darned if he didn't drop his garden-
ing, shower, shave and put on a coat and
tie, just so some kids he had never seen
before could get some pictures.
But some of Sue and Alan's good friends
today have come from just such casual
fan acquaintances. There's a group of
about twelve girls who always go with
Sue to Alan's broadcasts. She met them all
around at places where they've been to
watch Alan. One fan of his, Billie Nelson,
a pretty and intelligent girl of twenty-two,
is a great friend of Sue's by now. She
always goes along when Alan is on the air
and usually has dinner with Alan and Sue
afterwards, often with some other fans
the Ladds have taken a fancy to.
Billie, by the way, used to be president
of the Number One Alan Ladd fan club,
and because she's such a family friend,
Alan and Sue refer most of their mail-
friends fan club inquiries to Billie. Alan
has had over 300 requests from his fan
friends, wanting to start Alan Ladd clubs
here and there. But that's not surprising
when you consider the fact that Alan has
more pen-pals than any star in Hollywood.
Facts and figures about fan letters are al-
ways misleading — they usually go up and
down like the thermometer in March — but
Alan's mail already has broken all Holly-
wood records right and left.
How can any one guy, normally as busy
as Alan Ladd, answer stacks of letters
like this and answer them personally and
fully as Alan does? It's a fair question.
And the answer is that if Alan weren't one
of those rare movie stars who actually gets
a kick out of the people who write him,
he'd probably never get around to it. But,
as I said, he happens to have that as his
biggest hobby, and when you like a thing
it's fun, not work. But even at that, Alan
has had to do some organizing to keep
even with the postman.
First of all, he converted the big play-
house in back of the house into a huge
writing room. He got out the old saw
and hammer over a year ago and built
himself a long L-shaped desk that looks
like a store counter, it's so big. He has all
kinds of shelves and pigeonholes that he's
made to file letters, replies, pictures to be
autographed, drawings his friends have sent
him to sign, gifts to be acknowledged, per-
sonal souvenirs to send out. And to top
things off, he has a swell secretary as
interested in his letter-friends as he is.
They sit and talk over his fans and their
notes, and then Alan dictates replies, with
the personal touch that has made him the
best star correspondent in Hollywood.
Many is the night he has sat up past
midnight reading notes and jotting down
ideas for replies. Many a Sunday and holi-
day he has spent signing pictures and doing
a million things his fans have asked him
to do. And there's another explanation
why Alan can do all this.
You may be surprised to know that a
whole lot of Alan's fan mail comes not just
to him— but to "The Ladds," a whole stack
of it to Sue Carol, and even scads to Baby
Alana! Yep, Alana has her own growing
file of notes and, of course, she still gets
the biggest loot when it comes to gifts-
booties, dresses, caps, rattles, dolls — every
baby gadget you can imagine. Alana can't
write quite yet, but Sue certainly can and
does. She helps Alan out with his corre-
spondence constantly. They're a real team.
And that's a funny thing, too —
Alan Ladd's friends have adopted the
darndest family attitude toward him any
star in Hollywood has ever known. They
tell him how crazy they are about him —
and at the same time they direct half
their words to Sue. They never forget his
wedding anniversaries, and they know as
much about Sue's special remembrance
days,; birthdays and such, as they do
Alan's. No wonder Sue can pitch in on
the replies. Half of them are hers, any-
way.
And then, too, Alan has had a couple
of years' experience, and by now he's de-
veloped into a quick letter-reader. He can
spot a sincere letter right away, like he
can spot a sincere admirer in public
Naturally, like all Hollywood stars, he
gets crank notes, mash notes, bawdy notes,
insulting letters, gag mail. Frankly, he
pays them short shrift. Would you take
the trouble to answer a smart-aleck or
poison-pen pusher? Luckily, most of Alan's
mail is sincere, and it gets sincere answers
—even when his friends ask questions
impossible to answer, like "How do you
get in the movies?"
Occasionally he gets stumpers— like the
teen-age girl in the Midwest who was un-
happy at home. "I want to get away," she
wrote, "I want to be an actress. If I leave
this home I'll never be able to come back.
Shall I? I've decided to do exactly what
you say!" Well, Alan stewed a long time
over that one before he dared answer.
Putting a girl's fate up to him— a girl he
didn't even know! He finally decided the
only thing he could conscientiously do
was duck any advice there. It wasn't
fair to himself or the girl. But he worried
about the darned question for over a week.
Alan's a good worrier anyway, by nature.
But with all the ins and outs and changes
in his life during the last year, I think the
time he got most upset was when he'd
spent a week writing some fans, and then
the post-office notified him there'd been a
transit fire and the letters had all burned
up! What worried Alan was that a flock
of fans would think he'd ignored them.
asking for trouble . . .
I wish I had enough space to print a few
of the swell letters Alan Ladd keeps care-
fully stacked at home. But this is only a
magazine article— not the Encyclopedia
Britannica. Here are a few flashes though-
some touching, some tickling, that stick in
my memory, and particularly in Alan
Ladd's —
The despondent young man in the South
who planned to end it all and wrote Alan
life wasn't worth it— and the airmail special
Alan shot him back arguing him out of it
—and the letter he got back saying the
gloomy guy was looking up at the sunshine
again. And the boy in the New York
school for the mute who couldn't hear
Alan on the radio and who asked for a
picture so he could see him when every-
body else heard him. . . . The six young
girl patients in the TB sanitarium at Santa
Barbara who formed a fan club and kept
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Alan posted on their battle against the
White Plague and who call him their
"Hollywood doc" . . . the Mother who lost
her boy in the war and asked if she could
"adopt" Alan for a son by mail . . . The
cheery ones — "The pipe you sent sold
$50,000 in War Bonds at our rally."
Yes, and the laughs — the lonely lady in
Detroit who wanted Sue and Alan to move
there when Alana arrived. "Because I've
got a lot of time on my hands, and I can
take perfect care of the baby while you
and Alan work. . . ." And the high school
girl who wrote plaintively, "Please send
me another picture for my locker, Alan.
You're my favorite pin-up — but some
jealous cat stole the picture I had — and
I know who it was, too!"
Yes, there are plenty of thrills in every
mail sack for Alan Ladd, too, personal
thrills. He's discovered blood relatives,
for instance, here in America and in Eng-
land, he never knew he had. Alan never
knew anything about his kin-folks, if you
remember. He hasn't a birth certificate to
this day. The courthouse in Hot Springs,
Arkansas, where he was born, burned
down the year he was born or something,
and there's absolutely no record. When his
mother died, he knew no one who really
belonged to him. But he gets constant twig
clues to his family tree through the mail.
A school teacher who knew his grand-
father recently wrote him all about the
old gentleman. It was the first time Alan
had even had a description of what he
looked like.
Alan has found out through his mail fans
what his own name, Alan, means, "fast,
majestic and graceful!" That's something
Alan never suspected before. But an even
odder bit of information came when Colleen
Moore, the great silent movie star, who now
lives in Chicago, wrote to ask Sue for
an autographed picture of Alan for her
little girl — a fervent Ladd fan. Writing to
thank them for the picture, Colleen said:
"I was interested to learn that your little
daughter's name is Alana. I wonder if you
know that in the Gaelic language Alana
means "little one" and is a pet name? You
remember my brother, Cleeve? Well, his
little daughter is called Alana, too."
That information later came from all
parts of the world, by the way. Sometimes
Alana meant "darling," "beloved," "little
pet" and so forth. But always it meant just
what both Alan and Sue would like their
baby's name to mean. Funny thing was —
they had no idea Alana meant anything
when they named her. They just thought
it would be nice to name the baby girl
after Alan!
There's only one time on record that
Alan's weakness for his fan friends got
him in dutch. He made a quick jump one
afternoon from the set of "And Now To-
morrow" to the Lux Radio Theater. In
the crush after the show, a young girl
stated boldly, "Mr. Ladd, if you'll give
me the tie you're wearing, I'll be the
happiest girl in the world!" Old softie
Ladd simply couldn't refuse and ripped
it right off his neck then and there.
So what happened the next morning but
retakes were scheduled for the scene he'd
just made, with Alan due to dress exactly as
he had the day before. But here's the rub:
Alan has a weakness for — er — distinctive —
ties, and there wasn't a cravat anywhere
to match the one he'd given away, a
pre-war importation from France. When
he confessed he'd given it to an unknown
girl friend, his director almost blew up.
They never did get one to match, but I
expect Alan's fans will forgive that slip-up
in the picture, even if they notice it.
As for Alan Ladd — stacked up against
the thrills he gets for making people
happy, a mere bawling out is a pleasure.
He'll trade a studio rap for the kick of
a friendly smile every time.
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"BETWEEN TWO WOMEN
STORY
(Continued from page 53)
invitation he just happened to have around.
You! You were behind it all."
Ruth Edley smiled brightly: "A very
sound diagnosis, Doctor. You have a bril-
liant future ahead of you."
Red groaned: "Why don't you leave me
alone?"
"I can't. I love you."
"Look, we've been through all that."
"Not all the way through. You always
stop when it gets interesting. But if you'd
like to propose, I've got a nice, quiet flat
nearby, and we can — "
"Ruth!"
"Ruth, my eye! I'm not the coy type.
You know I love you, and I know darn
well you love me. Then what's holding up
the wedding bells?"
"A couple of million dollars," Red said.
"It's just that you happen to own them.
Not me. Me, I get twenty a month over
at Blair General Hospital — "
"Twenty dollars? Every month? What
are we waiting for?"
"Right now, I'm waiting for the menu."
"Darling," Ruth said. "That's what I
like about you. You're so romantic."
"Remind me to tell you after the des-
sert," Red said. "You're beautiful."
"I know," Ruth said sweetly. "That's
what I'm counting on to hook you."
So it was all very pleasant that night in
the night club. The affair, it turned out,
was a War Bond Rally, and the master of
ceremonies trotted out after a while trailing
six beautiful girls behind him. They auc-
tioned off kisses to the highest War Bond
bidder. It was then that Ruth stood up
and said: "Can't a girl get in on the fun?
I'll buy a hundred thousand dollars worth
of bonds if — " her eyes crinkled with
laughter as she pointed at Red, "—if he'll
kiss me."
Of course Red had to do it. And it was
odd, that even there, in the middle of a
night club floor, mad at Ruth for pulling
a gag like that, still, he felt the tingle of
the kiss, sharp as a knife blade, and he
knew that he loved her and always would.
"Well?" Ruth said.
"You'll do," Red said.
"You bet I will," Ruth said briskly. "Is
it a deal, Red? Set the date."
He looked at her, knowing that under
the banter, she was serious. All right, he
said to himself, he loved her; she was
beautiful, she was bright, she was all he
ever dreamed about; and he was still just
another doctor over at Blair knocking out
twenty a month —
is there a doctor in the house? . . .
Someone was saying: "Is there a doctor
in the house?"
He felt Ruth poke him, and he looked
up. It was the master of ceremonies, look-
ing just a little strained. He stood up and
said quietly: "Take it easy, man, what's
wrong?" And then everything fell away
from him — the night club, the pound of the
music, the laughter of the women, even the
image of Ruth; and he was Doctor Adams,
a man whose hands had been trained to
heal, whose eyes sought out hidden evils,
whose soul and whose heart had been
dedicated to the oath of Hippocrates.
It was one of the chorus girls. She had
suddenly collapsed backstage, and now
she was lying on one of the couches in a
tiny dressing room, very white, still un-
conscious. Adams knelt by her side and
worked swiftly.
"What happened?"
"We just found her on the floor—"
"Did she complain of not feeling well?"
"No, she never said a word."
"Did she drink?"
"If you mean did she lap it up, why
Edna never went in for that sort of stuff.
Just one to be social but — "
"Has she been all right lately?"
"You know how it is. Her boy friend's
in the Army, and I guess she's a little
worried what with one thing and another.
She seemed to be off her feed — "
"She wasn't eating?"
"Well, she never went out with us for
a bite or anything these last few days."
Red Adams stood up sharply. "We'll
have to get her to the hospital," he said.
He called in to Blair and then went back
to the night club. He hunted up the head-
waiter, slipped a bill in his hands and told
him to see that Ruth got home all right.
Then he went back to the girl in the
dressing room. He was still working over
her when the ambulance arrived.
When things happen at a hospital, they
are likely to happen in bunches. There is
some malevolent destiny that takes a per-
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last person anyone would have thought to
be victim of it was Sally, the switchboard
operator at Blair. Why, Sally had been
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around for years, kidding with the in-
ternes, taking calls as if Blair General
Hospital were her own private concern,
even scolding Doctor Gillespie from time
to time. Sally was indestructible.
double trouble . . .
Yet it was for Sally that the emergency
call came through. They found her
doubled up on the floor just beside her
switchboard, in that absurd frilly dress
which she thought was so fashionable.
Dr. Gillespie met Red Adams in the
corridor outside the room. Dr. Gillespie
was in his wheelchair, and he looked up
shrewdly as Adams softly closed the door
behind him.
"You've examined her?"
"Yes."
"What do you think?"
"I'm not sure—"
"Of course you're not sure," Dr. Gillespie
exploded. "No doctor worth his salt even is
sure. I didn't ask you that. I asked you
what you thought."
"Bright's Disease."
Gillespie nodded thoughtfully. "Could
be," he grunted. "You're running tests?"
"Yes, sir."
"You'll let me know." He swung that
chair around. "What about that chorus
girl? She out of the coma?"
"She came out this morning."
"Good work," Gillespie said softly. "Did
you get a chance to talk to her?"
Red nodded.
"Well, what about her?"
"It's hard to believe," Red said in a
puzzled voice. "She gives every symtom of
starvation. But there's no sense to that.
Unless it's neuro-psychiatric. Self induced.
And I have to find out more about her
before I'll confirm that."
"Well, why don't you," Gillespie growled.
"You're a doctor, aren't you? You've got
to find a cure any way you can." Gillespie's
voice suddenly went very low. "And by
the way, if you turn the corner of the
corridor, you might find something, too."
The "something" turned out to be about
five foot four of very desirable femininity.
Ruth Edley tapped her foot against the
cork hospital floor, stared pointedly at Red
Adams, and said: "All right, what's the
_ o >'
excuse :
"Excuse for what?" Red said.
"That hussy you picked up in the night
club. You've been spending nights with
her."
"That hussy," Red said, "happens to be
a very sick girl."
"I've heard that one before," Ruth said.
"All right. Listen to some more. Right
now I'm heading over to the Sherry Plaza
to take in a night club."
"On business?"
"On business," Red said grimly.
"The things doctors get away with,"
Ruth muttered.
The next morning Red Adams sat in
the swivel chair in his tiny consultation
office at Blair and looked steadily at the
girl opposite him. She was still not eating;
the nurses report stated that they had
continued intravenous feeding. She looked
nervously at him from time to time; in her
lap her hands clenched and unclenched
monotonously.
"Edna," Red said softly. "I want you
to listen to me for a while and believe
what I say. There's nothing wrong with
you. We've checked every detail, physically
you're sound as a dollar. But sometimes we
get sick even if there's nothing physically
wrong with us — "
The girl looked up swiftly, startled.
"No, it's not what you think. You're not
going crazy or anything like that. But
sometimes we get funny ideas, deep inside
us, where we don't even know about them.
I think it's something like that keeping
— yef ate plenty
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you from eating."
"But, why? Why?"
"That's what I'm here to find out. Last
night I spoke to some of your friends over
at the Sherry Plaza. Now I'd like to talk
to you. Are you in love, Edna?"
"Oh, yes," she said swiftly. "But that
can't have anything to do with it. He's
in the Army now, and we intend to get
married as soon as — "
There was a knock on the door, and
Nurse Workman stuck her head in:
"There's a fellow outside here, says he has
an appointment with you."
"Show him in," Red said.
A small, dapper man came in briskly;
he looked keenly at Doctor Adams and
then at Edna. He nodded to Edna. Red
said: "Edna, you know Larry Goff, the
theatrical agent?"
"Yes," Edna said.
Then abruptly Red continued: "And you
knew a girl named Sylvia Fames, too?"
root of the matter . . .
Something puzzled and frightened fitted
across Edna's face. "I knew Sylvia. I was
terribly sorry to hear she died last week."
"Sylvia knew the man you're in love
with, didn't she?"
;'Yes."
"In fact she was in love with him
herself."
Edna's voice was very low: "Yes."
"And she blamed you for taking him
away."
"But it wasn't true," Edna said intensely.
"He never loved her. He never told her so."
"I believe that, Edna," Red said softly.
"Did you ever have any trouble with her,
any arguments?"
"She blamed me for losing her job. She
said I got her kicked out of the show be-
cause I was jealous. I never did. I swear
I never did."
u "And then you heard she died," Red said.
"And you heard she died of starvation.
That's what's been in your mind all the
time, Edna. Deep, deep down you've been
blaming yourself for her death. You've
been telling yourself that it was because of
you that she lost her job and then died.
You felt you were guilty for it. And you
were punishing yourself by refusing to eat.
You never knew why, of course. All you
knew was that suddenly you couldn't eat
anything. But at the bottom of it all was
the fear that you had caused Sylvia Fames'
death — "
"But I did," Edna said in a horrified
voice.
Red said sharply: "You didn't. In the
first place you didn't make her lose her
job. As a matter of fact she tried to make
you lose yours. Right, Mr. Goff?"
Larry Goff nodded: "She put it up to
the stage manager that one of you had to
go. She wanted you out. She was sore
as a boil because you took her man even
though she knew he didn't care a plugged
nickel about her. So the stage manager
canned her. She was always a tough one
to get along with anyhow, and she liked
the bottle a little too much—"
"Which brings us to the second point,"
Red said. "Svlvia Fames didn't die of mal-
nutrition. That was just a story to protect
her reputation. Actually, she drank her-
self to death. Is that right, Mr. Goff?"
"It's true, Edna. She was heading that
way all the time. It wasn't anything you
did. Sylvia was just a bad one from the
first."
"So you had nothing to do with her
death," Red said insistently. "You weren't
guilty of anythirg. Do you hear that, Edna.
Do you believe it?"
It was as if a black cloud had lifted
from the girl's face; her eyes lit with hope,
and her face looked young again and fresh.
"It's like getting up out of a bad dream,"
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130
she said. "I believe you, Doctor. I know
I had nothing to do with Sylvia's death
now. I know it all the way through me—"
woof, woof . . .
Red smiled: "Okay. Now see if you can't
get a couple of steaks through you. With
potatoes."
"I could eat a wolf," Edna said happily.
"In your business," Red said, "you prob-
ably have to. The prescription is still steak,
though. And if a wolf shows up, tell him
you'll sic the Army on him."
Late that night, Dr. Adams lay on his
bed trying to sleep, thoughts and images
drifting through his mind haphazardly:
Dr. Gillespie off to Chicago . . . that case
in Ward 3 . . . . Ruth . . . Lord, she was
lovely . . . poor Sally . . . funny about that
chorus girl . . . funny the things people
can get into ... if only Ruth wasn't so
rich . . . always hearing bells . . . must
be Ruth and her wedding bells. . . .
It wasn't. It was the telephone jangling
insistently at his elbow, and he rolled over
groaning and lifted the receiver and then
immediately he was awake: "What's that?"
he said. "Sally? In pain? Did those
X-Rays come through yet? Tell X-Ray I'm
coming down. I'll be over to Sally right
after. Keep her comfortable. ..."
When he finally got to Sally's room, he
found Molly Byrd, Superintendent of the
Nurses, at the bedside. Molly shook her
head at Red. He came over and he said
softly: "Sally? Can you hear me, Sally?"
"Doctor Adams, I'm so glad you—" a
spasm of pain crossed her face.
"You know me too long to call me
Doctor," Red said. "It always was Red
between us, wasn't it, Sally?"
"Red ..."
"Why did you lie to us, Sally?" Red said.
"Why didn't you tell us you were in pain?"
"It's . . . it's . . . cancer, isn't it?"
"Cancer!" Red said sharply. "You mean
you've been lying there thinking that's
what it is. You poor kid. No Sally, I
swear to you it isn't. Your plumbing's
out of kilter, that's all. It's one of your
kidneys out on a bender. It'll have to
come out."
"You're the doctor . . ."
"Gillespie's out of town. But Dr. Lane
Porteus will be down for the operation
and—" , , .
"Red," Sally said; she grimaced and then
waited until the pain passed. "Red . . .
promise me if anyone is going to operate
. . . you'll be the one . . . promise me . . .
"Porteus is one of the best men in the
country."
"You . . ."
Red looked over to Molly Byrd. She
nodded slightly.
"All right, Sally," Red said. "I promise."
Under the single huge light in the
operating room, Sally looked white and
shrunken. She was breathing steadily and
deeply under the skillful fingers of the
anesthetist. Doctor Adams stood at the
table waiting for the sign. Then the
anesthetist said: "Ready now, Doctor."
After that the minutes merged into the
swift, climactic struggle between a man's
trained hands and death. The voices
droned impersonally in the room.
"Pulse eighty . . . pulse ninety-six,
respiration twenty-two. ..."
Outside her room Molly Byrd and Red
stood silently together. Molly sighed and
said finally: "You did all there was to be
done, Red. If no severe shock sets in — "
"We'll pull her through," Red said
harshly.
Molly laid her hand on his arm: "Take
the advice of an old war horse. There's
nothing more you can do. You've been on
your feet almost twenty-four hours
straight. You need rest. Ruth called.
Drop over there. I'll call you if anything
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happens. ..."
He had felt desperately tired, but now
after punching the button to Ruth's apart-
ment, he felt the tiredness drop from him,
and he was pleased that he had remem-
bered to bring flowers.
"Well, well," Ruth said pleasantly.
'Didn't you want the Sherry Plaza? You
can't miss it. There's a blonde hanging
from the flagpole."
"I don't want the Sherry Plaza."
;;no?"
"I know what I want."
"Do you?"
"I want . . ." he stumbled over it.
"You'll never make Information Please
that way," Ruth said.
''Ruth," Red said. "Stop joking."
"I'm not joking," Ruth said. "I'm trying
to hide a broken heart. Seen it anywhere
around, Doctor? You can't miss it. It's one
of those small neat ones. Or at least it
was. It's probably all shrivelled up now
from lack of affection or vitamins or what-
ever it is hearts need to get along."
''Why don't you stop talking?" Red said.
"Why should I? Nothing ever happens
when I do. I shut my mouth and make
like a vamp. I give the big baby-come-
hither stare, and all you ever say is that
I ought to see an oculist."
"Not this time, Ruth," Red said huskily.
She knew then, and all the banter went
out of her face. She moved toward him in
silence.
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Thumb over to page 12.
"You think I ever stopped loving you a
minute?" Red said.
And the telephone rang.
It left the mood shattered as a soap
bubble in the air. Red managed one cau-
tious grin at Ruth.- She eyed him doubt-
fully for a moment, and then she laughed:
"All right, Doctor," she said. "I suppose I'll
have to be getting used to things like that."
"It's Sally," Red said from the phone.
"Molly says she's in bad shock. I have to
get right back."
A month later three couples entered the
exclusive night club at the Sherry Plaza.
You would have easily recognized Dr.
Gillespie; and possibly young Dr. Adams
and Ruth Edley. The tall, gangling girl
might have given you some trouble until
you spotted Sally under the glamorous
hair-do. It was easy enough to see that
they were all happy. As they sat down, a
bell rang sharply somewhere offstage. Red
Adams jumped to his feet like a trained
dog responding to a command.
"Sit down," Dr. Gillespie growled. "The
trouble with doctors is they think they're
the only ones who ever get phone calls."
THE CAST
Dr. "Red" Adams Van Johnson
Dr. Leonard Gillespie. Lionel Barrymore
Edna Gloria De Haven
Tobey Keenan Wynn
Ruth Edley Marilyn Maxwell
Molly Byrd Alma Kruger
Sally Marie Blake
£r. Lee... Keye Luke
Nurse Parker Nell Craig
Nurse Morgan Edna Holland
Marian Lorraine Miller
Dr. Walter Carew Walter Kingsford
Eddie Smith Tom Trout
Nurse Thorsen Shirley Patterson
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JUNE ALLYSON
(Continued from page 56)
He always said yes. Jab! went the needle
into teacher's leg —
On the sunwarmed rock, June lectured
her dog. "What do you mean, sticking
needles in people's legs? We'll have to tell
her we're sorry, you know. Mummy said
so—"
June had three great loves— Mother,
Grandma and Teddy, the wirehair. She
lived in Grandma's little white house in
Westchester. They weren't rich, but then
neither was anyone else around their
neighborhood. She had a bike like the
other kids, and would have been perfectly
happy if only Mother'd been home instead
of working in New York.
She understood about her father.
Mummy'd explained it. Mummy always
explained things so you could understand.
Sometimes people got married, then found
it was all a mistake, so it was better to say
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together and not being happy. June under-
stood about that, and she understood, too,
why Mother had to work. Grandpa only
had his pension, which wasn't very big,
and they needed more money.
But understanding it wasn't always
enough. June loved her mother so dearly
that sometimes she just couldn't stand it,
not having her round.
If anyone could have made up for not
having your very own mother, it would
have been Grandma. Grandma was quiet —
not gay, like Mummy — but oh! so sweet.
And a wonderful storyteller. When she
was little, June thought they were just
stories, but then she caught on. There was
always a lesson. If she did something
wrong, Grandma'd say, "Remember what
happened to the little girl in the story?"
June liked to tease her. "Tell me a story
without a lesson, Grandma."
Grandma'd call her a scamp, but she
certainly appreciated June. She was the
only one who ever said June might go on
the stage some day —
"Look what I can do," June would cry,
turning a cartwheel or standing on her
head.
"Mark my words," Grandma'd say. "That
child's going to be a dancer."
Then there was Teddy. In all the world
you'd never find another like him. You
could talk to him as if he were human,
and he understood lots more than lots of
people. Even when he was a puppy and
chewed shoes.
"Stop it," said June, "or you'll grow up
to be an idiot." He'd stick his head between
his paws and look so ashamed. "Never
mind, darling," she'd croon into his fuzzy
ear. "I'll be an idiot, too."
He'd trot along to school with her and
go home by himself, and of course he could
tell time, because every afternoon at three
he'd be there to meet her. Every afternoon
but one.
June raced all the way home. "Why, he
left as usual," said Grandma.
All afternoon they hunted him. June
wouldn't eat, and she wouldn't go to bed.
So Grandpa went out with her into the
dark, quiet street, and at last they found
him — a wretched little huddle, exhausted
by grief and fatigue, asleep on the school
steps. But for Teddy, the ordeal was al-
most worth while. His regular bed was
beside the kitchen stove. And he spent that
night curled in a blissful ball at June's feet.
ordeal by pain . . .
It had been the most heavenly Sunday
June could remember. Mother'd taken her
to Coney Island. They'd eaten hot dogs
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and whirled on the merry-go-round and
slid down the chutes. June was wearing
the pink taffeta Grandma'd made for her
birthday— her first dress-up dress. They'd
left very early, to be home in time for
supper. Teddy ran out to welcome them
back, but June was too excited to go
indoors.
The kids were playing cops and robbers
on their bikes. "Mummy, can I get my bike
and play for a while?"
"It's kind of late, dear. And that's no
dress to play cops and robbers in."
"I'll be terribly careful. Just for a little
while, please!"
"Well— all right then."
June climbed her bike and joined the
robbers. Helen was cop. The last thing
June remembered was Teddy scampering
beside her, and Helen lifting her hand to
say stop. Then the crash!— and blackness
She came to for just a second before the
ambulance got there, and wondered why
they were cutting her pink silk dress. "My
head feels funny — "
The storm-weakened tree had come
down on her head and back. Helen jumped
m time to escape with a broken arm.
Teddys little life was snuffed out
June's hung by a thread. At the hospital
they told her white-faced mother: "We're
doing all we can—"
"What does that mean?" she asked from
between stiff lips.
"She may not live through the night—"
For days she was conscious of nothing
but pam. She didn't know Mother was
there, wracked by every feeble moan, rigid
with dread when the moaning ceased and
the broken little body lay ominously still
She knew only that when she pushed her
eyes open as against some heavy weight
there was pain all around. Once her
mother caught the words: "I— hurt— so
bad—' and sat there by the bed, slowly
tearing a handkerchief to shreds.
One day she opened her eyes and kept
them open. Funny. Her head wouldn't
move. All she could see was the ceiling
Her eyes slid over toward a window with
green outside— slid back-
Mother was bending over her. "Junie— "
Hello. What'm I— doing here?"
"You've been sick, darling. How do you
feel now?
"All right— I guess. Why— can't I— move
my head?"
"You were hurt, but you're going to be
nne. Don t talk any more now, my blessed
baby —
It looked as if Mother were crying. It
looked as if she were kneeling down by
the bed, and she must be crying, else why
was June's hand getting wet? She wanted
t° say don't cry, but she was too tired.
Shed have to remember to say it when
she woke up —
The head was kept shaved and bandaged
the back was in a cast. The doctors said
she might not walk again. Her one crv
was for Teddy—
"I want my Teddy. When's my Teddy
coming to see me?"
At first, fearful of the shock, they said
dogs weren't allowed in hospitals—
"Then bring him and hold him up to the
window, Mummy, just to say hello—"
"Later — when you're stronger — "
"If I could just see his little face, I'd
get strong right away."
Mother finally had to tell her. "He was
running beside you that day. The tree fell
on him, too. Teddy's in heaven, darling
with the other little dogs."
June closed her eyes. She didn't want
to see anyone, even Mother. Mother
couldn't help her— she couldn't bring Teddy
back. He'd never stand there again with
his head on the side, never call for her at
school. The little red tongue wouldn't wash
her face any more, the box by the stove
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would be empty. If only she could lay her
cheek against his coat— tell him she was
sorry for saying he'd grow up to be an
idiot —
From under the closed lids two slow
tears rolled. She couldn't lift her hand to
wipe them away. The lips quivered, the
small white-swathed face crumpled in
anguish, sobs tore through the little frame
in its plaster prison—
"Oh darling, don't cry like that, you 11
hurt yourself. Don't cry for Teddy. He's
happy running around in heaven — "
Strangled words broke through. "He's—
not happy, Mummy. Even in heaven — he
couldn't be happy— without me."
Little by little, the wounds of body and
spirit began to mend. First they said she
mightn't live— then, that she mightn't walk.
But June fooled them. At the end of six
months— head still bandaged, back in a
brace that she was to wear for five years —
she took her first wobbling triumphant
steps— starting from Mother by the bed
and flopping into the arms of the red-
headed doctor, way over by the door.
June was madly in love with the red-
headed doctor. There had been a time
when she planned to marry him. But one
day Red came in to find his favorite pa-
tient gone sour on him. For five minutes
she kept her back turned. Then she
pointed out coldly: "You've got a wife
already — "
"I didn't know you cared — "
"Of course I cared. You brought me
presents, didn't you? When men give ^ladies
presents, it means they're in love — "
She forgave him in the end, and went
right on loving him best, though there
wasn't a single doctor she didn't love. It
was there in the hospital that June con-
ceived her passion for the healing pro-
fession. Doctors were kind and good. They
made you stop hurting. You came in sick,
and they made you well. That was a won-
derful thing to be able to do—
"Mummy, when I grow up, can I be a
doctor?"
"If that's what you want. It takes a long
time, and you have to be pretty smart—"
"I'll be smart," said June.
over the bumps . . .
A year after the accident, June went back
to school and Mother went back to work.
Teachers had nothing to complain of any
longer. June was a model child — almost
too good. Kept her head bent over her
books and avoided other children. When
you had best friends, they'd put their arms
around you. She didn't want arms around
her, feeling her brace. She looked funny
enough as it was, spindleshanks and bald-
head. Her eyes would rest on the heads
around her— blond curls, dark braids— all
shiny and beautiful. They all had hair and
they thought nothing of it— didn't know
how lucky they were —
One day she found some old lengths of
rope in the cellar, cut off two ends, combed
out the strands, stuck them over her ears,
and tied a kerchief on to keep them in
place. At school, one or two of the girls
tittered, but June didn't care. Grandma
said, if she liked herself better that way,
go ahead and wear them —
Sometimes she'd take Snowball and go
sit on the rock that she still called Teddy's
rock. Snowball was supposed to be instead
of Teddy— a little white poodle, so tiny
that Mother'd brought him home in her
shopping bag. He was cute and fun to play
with and— not to hurt his feelings— she pre-
tended to love him like Teddy, but of
course she couldn't. Sitting there on the
rock, he'd sort of fade out like in the
movies, and Teddy'd come back with his
lovely soft eyes and his sweet funny
ways_. Just for a second, though. The
minute she put her hand out, he'd be gone,
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fr«t f he?«rt was shaken by sorrow too
great for a child— sorrow for Teddy crushed
under a tree— and for Snowball because
she couldn't love him enough—
Those were only moments, though For
the most part, June took happiness where
she found it After a while they'd stop
shaving her head and the brace would
come off, and she wouldn't be crippled like
boX tenMf g?uod little *irls
k i ii. l S| there was one nice thing
tnZ J ft ? Ce" J-* made her sit UP strai§ht
instead of slouching, so she always got a
high mark for posture. And golly I she'd
soon be a swimming champ'
hp?hai0Ct0JSSiSaid/wiinmin8 would make
Hack. and leSs stronger, so she'd started
«L felt *e,s,Jmme? Pools. That first day
&fel» .hunS baek behind the other
Kids. Till Marie came over—
JutariLWt1! the teacher. Later she told
mS~a- ] T^ought y°u were the saddest
}£tle SlrJTId ever seen. I said to myself,
I llsee if I can make her smile—"
tanSfr7 ?0t t0 bf Veriy good friends- Marie
taught at several pools, and she'd take June
along and give her special lessons, and
pretty soon she was swimming like a fish
Having a grown-up friend was nice. Marie
understood about the rope-hair and the
Mother- 7 JUne Want6d her to meet
"I'm ugly, but you ought to see how
pretty my mother is—"
So one Sunday Mother answered the
door, and there stood Marie
"Are you June's sister?"
(iNo, I'm her mother."
"Goodness, you're too young and pretty
to be anyone's mother—"
June almost burst with pride. She
wished she had a hundred million dollars
to Marie giVG half t0 M°ther and hal*
black days . . .
She was eleven when Grandma died.
m f t * +1fn umd of worried about Grand-
Peo^^A-°\CaUght her defenseless.
people don t die of a sore foot. Grandma'd
Swi tnT^f la/ely' and sometimes sh^'d
««rL , f°0t UP 0n 3 Stool—
What s the matter, Grandma?"
Oh nothing. Just a sore foot "
Even when Mother came home and
Grandma went to the hospital, June took
their word for it that she'd be all right
soon. June knew all about hospitals. Hos-
pitals made people well. Look how sick
FIVE DOLLARS
hooky, fans, we're still asking for
those encounters with the stars, and
we re still giving five bucks for the
ones we accept, but puh-leeze, try
to remember that what we want are
vivid stories, cute anecdotes, inter-
esting sidelights on movie people
not on your nephew's bridge partner
or Susies Sunday School teacher'
So why not read the I SAW IT
HAPPENs we print each month and
try to discover what makes them
acceptable? Hint: You'll find that
in every case, the stories are fun
because they're interesting in them-
selves and not because the writer
saw it happen."
So c'mon, send in your entries
(and do try to write 'em so we can
read em), and even though you're
no Fannie Hurst or Edgar Guest,
we 11 grab 'em like that if they're
the kind of stories the rest of the
gang likes.
Send in your entries to: I SAW
\l0H™PfEN Editor> Mode™ Screen,
149 Madison Ave., New York 16, N. Y.
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she'd been, and all Grandma had was a
sore foot — , , , .
But the foot was gangrenous and had to
be amputated, and Grandma didn t come
home alive. A girl flung the news at June
as she turned the corner, swinging her
books from their strap— n
"Your grandmothers dead—
For two days she lay on her bed, numb
with grief, and refused to eat. For a year
she wouldn't mention Grandma s name and,
when somebody else did she'd leave the
room The household broke up. Grandpa
went to one of her aunts. June was to live
with another aunt who had three little girls
around her own age. She didn t want to.
She pleaded with Mother to take her to
New York— „
"I won't be happy if I'm not with you—
Mother explained and explained. How
she'd be at the print shop all day long. How
June was too young to be left alone. June
had to give in. She couldn't explain like
Mother. But she was passionately sure that
being alone all day didn't matter as long
as vou saw your mother every night. A
nice house and three little cousins your
own age couldn't possibly make up for not
having your very own mother to live with.
A year later, just before Christmas, the
world came right for June. She went to
live with Mother in what you might have
thought was a cramped little coldwater
flat, but to her it was heaven. She put her
feet up on chairs, because this was her
own house. She clopped through the rooms,
making all the noise she liked. She ran
downstairs evenings and stood on the street
and yelled, "Mo-thuh!"
• Mother's head would pop out. June,
you're getting a little old for that kind of
'^Yes, but look at all the time I have
to make up." . , ,
Of course they minded being poor— old
clothes and one pair of shoes a year and
June collecting boxes for wood to keep
the stove going. But it didn't make them
unhappy. June was planning big things.
She studied like mad, because the harder
she studied, the sooner she'd be a doctor
and make Mother quit working Every
month her report card showed all As—
And then there were red-letter days.
The day she woke up and took down her
brace and threw it back in the closet. Im
not going to wear that thing any more-
dreams of glory . . .
The Christmas Mother gave her a red
pussywillow silk dress Real pussy willow
silk with white polka dots. Her first dress
in years that hadn't been made over from
somebody else's — . ..
Graduation Day. Mother sat in the audi-
ence, real proud. June wasnt ashamed
either. Besides the regular diploma, they
gave her a diploma of merit for graduating
with an average of 97%. And an auto-
graph album with gilt edges. Mother
bought chocolate ice cream and they ate
it at the kitchen table with the two diplo-
mas and the album between them—
"Now all I have to do is go through
high school and medical school. June
sighed. "It takes so Jong, Mummy. You 11
get awfully tired—"
"Don't worry, hon. I've still got a good
few years ahead before you stick me m
a wheel chair—"
"Wheel chair, my foot! A throne thats
where you'll sit. With mink coats and
diamonds. And the neighbors 11 say, my,
where did you get all that? And you 11 say,
from my good-for-nothing daughter, June
—here, have a diamond."
Things don't work out the way you plan
them. That year someone else came along
to take care of Mother. . .
Dick was awfully nice. He didnt talk
much, but June liked his smile. He man^
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aged a Loft plant and brought her candy
I he first time, June almost fainted. No-
body d ever given her candy in a box, and
she felt so elegant—
One day Mother said, "You like Dick,
don't you, June?"
"Oh yes, he's swell!"
"Come over here, dear. I want to ask
you something. How'd you feel if Dick
and I got married?"
It was a shock, there's no denying that.
And live here with us?"
"Well, not exactly. He's better off than
we are, you know. We'd probably move
to a nice apartment — "
"But what about us, Mummy? What
about you and me?"
v"^rlinf' >* won't make any difference.
You 11 still be my best girl." She loosed
the arms from around her neck and pushed
the hair away from June's forehead. "Look,
Junie. Wed be together even more than
we are now. I wouldn't have to work—"
You mean you'd be there when I got
home from school!" As we've mentioned,
June s not the brooding type. "Well, come
on, Mummy. What're we waiting for'"
When you're thirteen and your bed's
w.n S°!a " « dark little living room,
and all of a sudden there's a beautiful
sunny bedroom all your own— well, you
know how Cinderella felt. There were
little throw rugs and three windows with
cretonne curtains and a spread to match.
I here was a comb-brush-and-mirror set
on the dresser, and a frame for Mother's
picture. There was the dearest little
TZ nr^d a clo,set almost as bi§ as their
old kitchen, and six new dresses— every
one a different color— and three pairs of
shoes. At night she'd keep the closet door
open, so first thing she'd see in the morn-
ing would be her unbelievable clothes,
bhed rush home from school, stick the
rocker m the closet and pretend it was
her room. Then she'd step out and sur
prise herself —
*u'yhy' ,June TAllvson> you mean to say
thats only a cZoset'"
,,She'd(rhttve h^ed to ea* in her room, but
there Mother drew the line.
The rocker came in handy when little
Arthur was born. June would steal to his
crib, worried because he'd be sleeping too
quietly, and give him a little shake to
make sure he was alive. Then she'd sneak
him to her room and rock him to sleep
again Pretty soon he was calling her Doo-
boo, but the cutest time was when he was
learning to walk—
"I'm going to have eighty-four children,"
she told her mother, "and watch them all
learn to walk."
feeling of family . . .
x iS-he ^f6^'* have worried about Dick
taking Mother away. It wasn't like that
at all. She used to think Mother was all
in the world she needed, but that was
before she knew how grand a family could
be— how it could make you feel safe and
warm inside It was really Dick who
finally gave her that feeling. Of course
Mummy was her mother and Arthur was
her brother, but Dick at first— well, he was
r7,.,nice man Mother had married
«t Ju suddenly at dinner one night he said:
Why do you call me Dick9"
isnTft?"'1 d°n t know~that's y°ur name,
"Look June do you think you could
call me daddy'? That's how I feel about
you, and if you felt the same way, I'd be
pretty proud and happy—"
For weeks after that she'd phone him
at the factory, just to say "daddy" At
school my father" was suddenly much in
evidence. "My father says this—" "My
father doesn't care to have me do that—"
Since the brace had come off— and espe-
cially since the change in her living con-
Beautiful Si mu fated ■% I II
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.J 137
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D-'Scholls Zino-pads
ditions— June had grown less shy of other
children. She's made some friends, thougft
only among the girls. Boys played no part
in her life. Not that she wouldnt have
liked them to— she just had no illusions.
Firmly convinced that no boy would look
at her twice, she saved them the trouble
by looking the other way first. It troubled
Mother that June never went to school
dances — , .
"Look at me, Mummy. Little. Skinny.
No sex appeal. A face only a mother could
love—" _ ;
"Your face suits me
"That's what I said. Anyway, its silly.
You fall for a boy, he dates somebody else,
and you cry your eyes out. I've seen era,
even the pretty ones. So why would a boy
stick to me!" Her voice with its funny
little husk dropped to a bass, indicating
humor. "I'm Dr. June Allyson. Boys stay
away from my do'."
Of course she wasn't fooling Mother.
Let alone herself.
Queer, how seeing a movie can change
your whole life. So many girls dream of
theatrical careers. June would have hooted
the notion for herself. "Imagine a drip
like me on the stage!" Even after she saw
the picture, even after it took complete
hold of her imagination, she didn't fit her-
self into the pattern. It was just that Fred
Astaire's dancing haunted her. She went
around like a sleepwalker, and his teet
kept weaving designs through her bram—
It was Saturday afternoon, and the girls
had dates to go rollerskating, so she went
to see "The Gay Divorcee". alone. From the
moment Astaire slipped into his first dance,
the world was lost. She sat through the
next show and the next— she sat till the
movie house closed down. She even for-
got that Mother'd be frantic with worry.
Walking home, her mind was aflame. Why
hadn't someone told her about such
things? She was Columbus discovering
America, she was Newton under the tree
when the apple fell— _, , v
Ginger Rogers was divine, too. lhat line
she said: "Why don't you laugh? It's all
so very funny—" The weary throb in her
voiCe_so sad, so brave—. June's eyes had
stung with tears —
"Some day," she thought, "I've got to say
it just the way she did and bring tears to
everyone's eyes — " , . .
Mother and Dad were waiting. Junie!
Where have you been?"
"With Fred Astaire," she said dreamily,
looking from one to the other and back
again Then she put the weary throb into
her voice. "Why don't you laugh? It s all
so very funny — "
uncured ham . . .
But it didn't bring tears to their eyes.
Mother came over and put her hand to
June's forehead. "I wonder if she s com-
ing down with something.
June, the model student, played hookey
for a week, and her conscience never said
boo. She followed "The Gay Divorcee
through two neighborhood houses, after
which Astaire danced away to parts un-
known. Mother had to be told, because
June couldn't go back to school without
3. nots.
She didn't fuss. If the truth were told,
it was a relief to see the child go a little
flighty like other kids. Where before she d
come home and bury her nose in a book,
now she practised dance steps. Astaire
might be gone, but his routines were in her
head. Or anyway, her version of them.
Once Mother came in and found her hop-
ping all over the furniture. She didnt
appreciate that.
"But I've got to, Mummy. Thats the
way he does it — '
"Not if his mother has to do the laundry,
he doesn't — "
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SONG POEMS WANTED
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P. 0. Box 2.68H Hollywood 28, Calif.
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Address
City
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. . State
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212 East 14 St. Dept. F33. New York 3. N
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One evening she put on a show for the
folks. They didn't say much, but a kind
of look passing between them made her
know they liked it. Then she did a low
thing— pretended she'd gone to her room
and stopped to listen at the door. She had
to know what they thought —
For what seemed ages, nobody said a
word. Then Dad spoke up. "Looked
pretty good to me—"
"Same here."
More silence. "You think Junie could
learn to be a dancer?"
"Heavens, I wouldn't know. Doctor's all
she ever wanted to be. Since she was a
mite —
"No sense putting ideas in her head, but
she sure looked cute as a bug jigging
around." Dad's paper rustled as he turned
it. "Wonder how this Astaire fellow got
started?"
"The way I heard it, right from the
cradle —
"Hm." She could hear the grin in his
voice. "Well, our Junie's smart. Maybe
she can catch up."
That was all she needed. With a little
imagination, she persuaded herself that
the folks thought she could dance like
Fred Astaire. For the longest time she'd
been dying to tell the girls. They were
always bragging about their boy friends.
Well, not bragging maybe, but that's how
it sounded when you didn't have a boy
friend yourself. June longed for something
to brag about, too. Now she had it. Let
em laugh if they wanted. She'd show
them —
At noon that day she let it drop casually
I can dance like Fred Astaire—"
She was ready for the ribs. "You and
who else? — "Move over, Ginger, here
comes June."— "Oh, Miss Allyson, can I
have your autograph?"
"Come out in the hall and I'll show
you —
They formed a circle around her while
she did her stuff. Others came up and
peered over their heads, till she had a
sizeable crowd, including boys They
seemed impressed— anyway, enough to
satisiy June. She went home and practised
harder than ever. Kids she didn't even
know would call to her in the corridors
Hear you can dance like Fred Astaire—"
If the spirit was one of mockery, it didn't
touch her. Trusting, shy and proud, she'd
modesti? at "YeS' 1 Can'" She'd Say
One day her own particular crowd de-
scended and thrust a clipping at her.
Why dont you answer that?"
It was a chorus call for "Sing Out the
JNews. Anyone who can dance like As-
tatte ought to be able to get a chorus girl
'We're not kidding, June. Honest, we
think youre good."
"You do?" breathed June, and felt she
could move mountains. "All right I'll
go down tomorrow — "
new horizons . . .
For an hour she stood outside the
theater, wishing she were dead. Tall, beau-
tiful girls went sailing through the doors.
Ihey all knew each other. Their clothes
i were out of this world. They acted like
queens. Half a dozen times she headed
tor the subway and turned back. In the
end, that door was easier to face than the
kids at school, waiting to see what
happened.
«TA maA^ at a„ de,sk was taking names.
June Allyson," she whispered.
"Age?"
"Twenty-one."
He looked up. "How old are you really?"
"Fifteen. But it's all right. My mother
knows Im here," she fibbed.
"Got a cold?"
%
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eighteen times."
From the look he gave her, he must
have thought she was crazy. Her heart
hammered. "He's going to tell me to
scram." But something in the tremulous
pleading face made him change his mind.
"Sit down till your name's called—"
"June Ally son— "
She felt as if she were moving inside
some big bubble. Not till she found her-
self on the huge empty stage, did panic
strike. Blindly she started back for the
wings — .
"Where you going?" someone asked. ?
"It's all a mistake. I'm going home—
Whoever it was grinned. "Stay where
you are, kid. Show 'em what you can
ll
Her spine stiffened. Okay, she'd show
'em—. Same as she'd shown the kids.
"Where's your music?" asked a voice.
What music? Was she supposed to have
music? "I dance without music." n
"Oh, an original. All right, go ahead-
She broke into one of the routines she'd
practised so often. The music played itself
in her head. That was the trouble. At
home she could turn it off and on again.
Here she couldn't. The music went round
and round and came out nowhere— just
started all over again from the same note,
like a stuck phonograph record. So she
danced the same step over and over again
till they finally stopped her.
"Thank you," the voice said. "Wait over
there" ™ ,j „ u
What did that mean? They'd all been
told to wait— some over here, some over
there. Should she ask one of the girls?
Golly, they scared her, they looked so
superior She sneaked a glance at the
other group. Well, of course— they were
gayer and smarter and prettier than the
ones she was with. What did she expect,
anyway? They wouldn't have taken her,
Not after the awful way she'd danced—
The man was talking to the other girls.
They broke up and scattered. He came
over to June's crowd — y
"Report for rehearsal at ten tomorrow-
walking on air . . .
She knew what the books meant by
walking on air. She walked all the way
home— eight miles— and couldn't have told
you how she got there. She walked be-
cause she was too excited for the subway
Besides, she had to figure how to break
the news gently to Mother-
She knew how she'd break it to the kids.
Have them over at the house tonight, and
when they were all there, she'd say— very
quietly— "I'm in a Broadway show." They
wouldn't believe it. She didn't believe it
herself. Suddenly giddy, she stopped and
leaned her whirling head against the cool
stone wall of a house. "I saw Fred Astaire
eighteen times." "Show 'em what you can
do." "I dance without music." Report
for rehearsal tomorrow."
Things like that don't happen. "But
they did happen," she told the wall.
On the stoop at home, she still hadn't
figured how to tell Mother. But all at
once it didn't matter. She raced upstairs
and flung the door wide.
"Look at me, Mummy! Who do you think
The spoon clattered from Mother s hand
to the floor. June's eyes— twice too big
for her face— blazed like blue torches.
"What's wrong with you, June?"
"They must be crazy! They gave me
a job, Mummy. Look at me! I'm an ac-
tress— on Broadway!"
Part II of June Allyson's life story will
appear in the April issue of Modern Screen.
and his growing hair
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M. S. FASHION GUIDE
(Continued from page 61)
he love you in this darling little suit —
skirt length shorts, white crew shirt and
tiny bolero jacket? Write for the pattern
(see coupon at the end) and make a lot of
them in tubable cotton in wonderful
colors. Divine departure from the usual
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Perfect later on for tennis, gardening and
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One foot in Spring and nothing in your
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The jacket, patterned after a regular battle
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If you're young and pert and definitely
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priced within your reach.
We've saved this month's hunk of swoon
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Look for the "Tebilized" tag when buy-
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For all the vital statistics, like where to
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drop a note to Ann Ward. If it's a toss-up
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If you're in a dither about your color, de-
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know. She knows fashions like Parsons
knows Hollywood, so if you've a clothes
query under your hat, a figure problem
under your belt, share it with Annie and
you'll get it solved. Know where to write?
Ann Ward, Fashion Editor, Modern Screen,
149 Madison Avenue, New York 16, N. Y.
We're doing our best to help you make
your wardrobe something to swoon over,
but we need your help. Won't you come
to the rescue by filling out the FREE OF-
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take a minute, and we'll send you a FREE
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to show you how really grateful we are.
So quick whip over to page 22, huh?
Here's how you can whip up the darling
short suit pictured on page 61. Send 20c
to Modern Screen PATTERN SERVICE,
Post Office Box 224, Station G, New York
19, N. Y. Comes in sizes from 10 through
20. BE SURE TO INDICATE YOUR SIZE
AND REQUEST PATTERN NUMBER
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directions for this easy-to-make outfit.
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Wonorand \^ove
THE young and handsome officer of the Royal Navy loved beautiful,
blue-eyed, laughing Marguerite, but because of a foolish mistake, iron-
willed, dominating, possessive Marianne travelled half-way around the
world to marry him! Should he send her back, or should honor prevail?
In a second he decided — and lived a secret lie for years. Haunted, tortured,
still loving the girl he left behind, he fought against circumstances that
would have crushed a less stalwart soul. But what of the wife who didn't
know? And the sweetheart across the seas?
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GIRL: Spinst— ? Oh, now really.
Cupid! The way things are, I'm lucky
to even have a chess date with Uncle
Burt. Nobody has dates these days! Nobody!
CI TP III : Pardon, Child. But if that's true,
then a lot of girls are marrying perfect strangers.
People they never had dates with. Because
they're getting married honey. Left and right.
GIRL: All right! All right! So I'm wo? popular.
I'm not a glamor girl. Can / help that?
CUPID: You could smile a little more. Sugar. Even
a plain girl's pretty if she's got a sparkling smile. In fact,
some of my best customers—
GIRL: You mean just because I—
CUPID: Sis, that "pink" may mean your gums are
being robbed of exercise by today's soft foods. Your
dentist would probably tell you that. And that's why
so many dentists suggest, "the helpful stimulation of
Ipana and massage."
GIRL: But my smile, Cupid. My smile! What about—
CUPID: This, Child: Ipana not only cleans your
teeth. It is specially designed, with massage, to help
your gums. Massage a little extra Ipana Tooth Paste
on your gums every time you brush your teeth and
you help your gums to healthier firmness. And healthier
gums promote sounder, brighter teeth. And a smile
you'll be using on somebody else beside your
Uncle Burt. Get going on a lovelier smile now, Child!
GIRL: Sure. Yes, indeed. But it happens I haven't got
a sparkling smile, Cupid. I brush my teeth, and all, but—
CUPID: Ever notice "pink" on your tooth brush?
GIRL: The other day I—
CUPID: And you didn't do anything about it? By the
eternal Double-Ring Ceremony, Child! Don't you know
"pink tooth brush" is a warning to see your dentist?
PICTURE
ffALIE SCHAFER • LEE PATRICK • JESS BARKER • JUNE LOCKHART
George Bruce • Directed by EDWARD BUZZELL- Produced by GEORGE HAIGHT
Dannie ?Huhif™™ i
REE GROWS IN BROOKLYN
Neely (Ted Donaldson) and Francis Nolan (Peggy Ann Garner) meet their
Aunt Sissy (Joan Blondell) on corners. Her sister, disapproving of ladies for-
getting to divorce one husband before remarrying, forbids her in the house.
■ Here is a picturization of a book that will
challenge the interest and anticipation of the
millions of Americans who love that outstand-
ing novel of two seasons ago: "A Tree Grows
In Brooklyn."
This commentator is one of those millions.
In this instance, "A Tree Grows In Brook-
lyn" must hit high in its ability to transfer the
book's quality to the screen. Otherwise, pre-
pare for prompt wails of outraged anguish
from a loyal public.
"A Tree Grows In Brooklyn," as almost
everybody knows, is the story of the Nolan
family of Brooklyn, set a generation ago in one
of its tenement districts known as Williams-
burg.
It is the Odyssey of the mother of the family,
Katie Nolan (Dorothy McGuire), her two chil-
dren, Francie (Peggy Ann Garner) and Neeley
(Ted Donaldson), and Johnny Nolan (James
Dunn), the father, a singing waiter, chronically
out of a job. Out of the trials, vicissitudes and
valor of this rather pathetic little family, Betty
Smith has woven as tender a story as you will
encounter in many a day.
Elia Kazan, who directs the picture, Louis D.
Lighton, who produces it, and Tess Slesinger
and Frank Davis, who collaborated on the
screen version, cannot be accused of infidelity
of intention. They have attempted a sincere
transition from the printed page to the screen.
It is almost successful. Thought, caution
and discretion are apparent throughout. And
yet, it remains, {Continued on page 20)
A PICTURE WITH A HEART AS Big AS TODAY'S GOLDEN WEST!
Heed the call
to adventure great and thrill- v
ing! All the sweep and power
of "My Friend Flicka". . . more
rousing . . . more compelling!
HUNDERHEAD
SON OF FLICKA;
>4t,
with
20»
CENTURY-FOX
PICTURE
Directed by LOUIS KING • Produced by ROBERT BASSLER
Screen Play by Dwight Cummins & Dorothy Yost • Based on the Novel by Mary O'Hara
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By Virginia Wilson
THE HORN BLOWS AT MIDNIGHT
■ It seems there's this angel with wings and a trumpet and his name is Jack
Benny. Or no. To you and me his name is Jack Benny, but to the heavenly
hosts he is Athanael. Around celestial parts, Athanael is known as something
of a dope. The Chief (Guy Kibbee) considers him a definite bungler, and when
his secretary, Elizabeth (Alexis Smith), suggests Athanael for an important
mission to Earth, he at first refused to consider it. But Elizabeth, being a
beautiful girl as well as an angel, persuades him. She is sure that Athanael
can do the job.
After all, it's simple enough. The planet Earth has been causing a lot of
trouble lately, and the Chief has decided to dispose of it entirely. All Athanael
has to do is go down there and blow his trumpet at midnight. The whole planet
will then go up in smoke, and the rest of the universe can . get on with its
business. There's just one catch. The trumpet must be blown exactly on the
stroke of midnight.
Athanael arrives in the lobby of the hotel which has been selected for the
occasion, at about ten o'clock. (He has left his wings home, of course, and
is wearing a business suit— no sense in making one's self conspicuous.) He
prepares to kill a couple of hours just waiting around, but being Jack Benny
—sorry, I mean Athanael— he gets into trouble. He foils a big jewel robbery
without even knowing he's doing it, and of course makes an enemy of the
robber, Archie (Reginald Gardner). Archie is an international crook of some
importance, and he isn't going to let any stupid character like this mess up
his plans. Something will be done.
There are a couple of fallen angels in the hotel who were kicked out of
heaven several years before. They recognize Athanael immediately, and when
they see the trumpet, they know what he's there for. They try to keep him from
blowing the horn at midnight, but it's a pretty little (Continued on page 10)
In heaven Athanael (Jack Benny) is considered a dape. But an recommendation a ,s secretary
(Alexis Smith), the Chief (Guy Kibbee) commissions h.m to destroy the troublesome Ear h.
AH he haTto do is go daw and blow a horn at midnight, and the planet w.ll .pffftl in smoke.
—tt «»«* y%0 thru* yow
A man searches the skies
« . . a/?cf /mcfe faith! Faith in
a woman's love, and the
laughter of children— in the
steel-spitting guns of a
shark-jawed P40— in the
Comrade-in-Arms who flew <
beside him through fet
flak into high adventure!
— os Gen. Chennauli
the fiercest Flying
Tiger of them all I
You could count on the
Flying Padre for com-
fort—and a laughl
*/ H/s hobby was painting—
w Jap flags' on the fuselage!
WARNER BROS.
proudly add to such current successes as
"Hollywood Canteen", "To Have And
Have Not" and "Objective Burma" a pic-
ture that ranks with our all-time greatest,
from the all-exciting, best-selling book by
Col. ROBERT LEE SCOTT, Jr. &
//«■
w
"The most fascinating p
story of the war "-^^""al J
th
JACK L. WARNER
Executive Producer
Produced by
Robert Buckner.
DENNIS MORGAN -DANE CLARK
RAYMOND MASSEY • ALAN HALE
ANDREA KING ■ JOHN RIDGELY
Directed by Robert Florey
Screen Play by Peter Milne & Abem FinkeJ • Music by Franz Waxman
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girl named Fran (Dolores Moran) who is
really responsible for his failure.
The next day Elizabeth arrives from
heaven to see what on earth's the matter,
or vice versa. She finds that Athanael has
lost his trumpet, the dope, and it takes
the rest of the picture to get it back.
By then the Chief has changed his mind
about destroying the Earth, so relax, kids,
everything's all right.
Jack Benny is at his clowning peak,
and that's very funny indeed. — War.
P. S.
First starring picture for Benny since
his trip to North Africa and Sicily to visit
our fighting forces. ... To transform Stage
Seven at Warners' into a man's idea of
Heaven, it was necessary to hang ten
thousand yards of cheesecloth from high
towers and spread in billowing oceans of
foreground. And not one yard of this
rationed stuff was new material. Every-
thing was salvaged from wardrobe depart-
ment. . . . Alexis plays her part as an
angel in her living room curtains. No,
we're not kidding. There just wasn't enough
tulle and satin available for the costume,
so Miss S. had to come to the rescue. . . .
Warners' technical department was the
happiest on the lot while this was in
production. The technical department is
the studio chin which takes the blow when
fans write in complaining that one thing
or another was wrong with a picture.
The department dares anyone to question
the correctness of the heavenly sequences.
. . . Most difficult problem faced by the
casting office was to find authentic side-
show barkers needed for a carnival scene.
Old time, Coney Island style side-show
barkers no longer exist. Problem was
solved by Harry Seymour, dialogue coach
at Warners', who has many years of vaude-
ville and tent show experience to his
credit. Seymour deserted his coaching
post for a week to enact the role of barker
himself and to train twenty others in the
intricacies of that fast disappearing art.
. . . Dolores Moran wears a dozen lovely
gowns in this picture, none of which
weigh more than four ounces. It might
actually be a fact (as the wags were
claiming) that her make-up weighed more
than her clothes!
THE ENCHANTED COTTAGE
Dorothy McGuire and Robert Young
have the most difficult roles of their
careers in "The Enchanted Cottage." Dor-
othy plays a girl who has been homely all
her life, who knows the biting hurt of
having men look at her and look too
quickly away. Robert plays a soldier dis-
figured in the war, so conscious of that
disfigurement that it cripples him mentally
as well as physically. They make these
two people not only believable but a
definite inspiration to us all.
Oliver Bradford (Robert Young) re-
turns from the war to a world gone com-
pletely awry. His fiancee shows in her
first look at him that her love is dead.
His family are well meaning enough, but
they don't understand his problem or
know how to cope with it. So Oliver goes
off alone to the little cottage on the New
England coast which he had rented for
the honeymoon he had expected to have
the year before.
The neighbors say the cottage is haunted.
But "enchanted" is probably a better word.
The English nobleman who built it many
years before used to let young married
couples live in it as long as they were
happy. Some of that happiness seems to
have been absorbed by the cottage, and^ it
has a special, almost magic spell. When
Oliver comes there, bitter and alone, he
finds Laura (Dorothy McGuire) working
there as a maid. Their mutual ugliness
draws them together. Thanks to Laura
and a blind composer, Hillgrove (Herbert
Marshall) , who lives nearby, Oliver be-
gins to get back to normal.
Then his parents decide to move to the
cottage to look after him. He knows that
if they come his nerves will go to pieces
again, so he tells them that he is going
to be married to Laura. He isn't in love
with her yet, but after they are married,
they fall deeply in love. And when they
do, the magic of the cottage works a
miracle. For to each other they are no
longer ugly, but beautiful, and life holds
everything for them that they could pos-
sibly want.
Mildred Natwick, Spring Byington, Hil-
lary Brooke and Richard Gaines all aid
in making this a delightful picture. — RKO
P. S.
Was first produced in London in 1922.
Following year it was presented on Broad-
way with Katharine Cornell. In 1924 it
was made as a silent picture with Richard
Barthelmess and May McAvoy. Although
the story is essentially the same, the time
has been moved up from the years of
World War I to World War II, and the
locale shifted from England to New Eng-
land. . . . There are no war scenes. . . .
The story was written by Pinero at the
suggestion of the British government to
provide entertainment with a morale lift
for England's returned soldiers for the
last war. . . . Bob Young, who has been
acting in pictures since 1932 ("The Sin
of Madelon Claudet" with Helen Hayes),
claims this is the most dramatic role of
his career. It's totally different from any-
thing he's done before, and he's anxiously
waiting news from his fans about the
role. . . . Broadway favorite, Mildred Nat-
wick, was signed for Mrs. Minnett in "The
Enchanted Cottage" because her portrayal
of Madame Arcati in the original stage
production of "Blithe Spirit" proved to
the "front office" that she was exactly
what was needed in this part. . . . This
is her first screen role. . . . Alec Englander
(Danny Stanton in the picture) is nine
years old. He's a veteran of the stage
and of radio. Director John Cromwell
was impressed with Alec's performance in
"The Willow and I" and remembered the
boy when he was casting for this picture.
Alec was signed for this without benefit
of screen test.
BRING ON THE GIRLS
Here, my pets, we really have some-
thing. A musical with not only swell
music, Technicolor and a flock of gor-
geous babes, but a real honest-to-gosh
plot that's full of laughs. One good reason
for the laughter is Eddie Bracken, playing
his usual innocent-guy-in-a-jam. Another
is Sonny Tufts. If you've ever had any
doubts about Sonny as a comedian, toss
them out the window. He's a wow. Wait
till you get a load of him playing and
singing "Egyptian Ella"! The feminine
interest is supplied by two beautiful
blondes — Veronica Lake and Marjorie
Reynolds.
It all begins with young millionaire Jay
Bates (Eddie Bracken) finding his fiancee
being kissed by his cousin. This kind of
situation has long since lost its novelty
for Jay. In fact this is the fifth fiancee
whom he has discovered to be interested
in him only for his money. Enough is
enough, and Jay decides to join the Navy.
There nobody will know how much dough
he has, or care. But his family insist on
providing him with a guardian, Phil
(Sonny Tufts), who joins the Navy at the
same time, with instructions to keep his
eye on the susceptible Jay.
gig*-.)
FORGET THAT
LOOK IN
HER EYES...
SHES GOT/HMDE/i
M HER HEART/
Meet the year's biggest
movie surprise . . . Dick
Powell playing a new
kind of role ... in a
murder-mystery that's
rough, tough and terrific 1
■tV* «* r u&7tiRKl • mu.es w^otR
Produced by Adrian Scott • Directed by Edward Omytryk
Screen Play by John Paxton
One evening Jay manages to elude Phil
long enough to get to a night club. Also,
long enough to fall in love, or a reasonable
facsimile thereof. The girl sells cigarettes
at the night club, her name is Teddy (Ver-
onica Lake)," and she doesn't know he's a
millionaire— he thinks! Phil goes to the
club the next night to investigate, but is
led to believe that Jay's new enchantress
is Sue Thomas (Marjorie Reynolds), the
club's singing and dancing star. Sue is a
nice girl. Phil .makes a pass at her to find
out, and she has him thrown out. He
goes back to camp and wires the family
that everything is fine.
When he finds out that Teddy is the
girl, Phil is really upset. Not only because
he's convinced she's an eighteen-carat
gold digger, but because he's in love with
her herself. Has been for years. Teddy loves
him, too, but she thinks he gave her the
runaround, so she's going to be the prac-
tical type from now on, and marry money.
The tangle that follows is funnier than
anything you've seen in years. There's an
elegant moment when Jay wants to make
a phone call, and hauls hundred dollar
bills from all his pockets, muttering
petulantly, "I had a nickel here some-
where." That got me!— Par.
P. S.
Sonny Tufts, who spent four years sing-
ing for his supper in New York and Palm
Beach, and has gone vocally untuneful
through three previous pictures, debuts as
a screen singer in this one. He sings
"Egyptian Ella" and another, written for
him, by Jimmy McHugh and Harold Adam-
son titled "I'm Gonna Hate Myself In the
Morning." Sonny accompanies himself on
the piano — describes his playing as "seven
chords and a heavy foot." . . . Bracken
does his first song solo, too. His is a "pro-
duction love song" called "It Could Happen
To Me," which is staged as he strolls along
four blocks of a street at night. This scene
took two days to film. . . . It's worth the
price of tickets for the whole family to
see Spike Jones and his City Slickers
burlesque "Chloe." They played this for
Command Performance one night, and it
sounded so swell Paramount asked it be
picturized. Spike spent a week making
its comedy visual. They spent three days
filming it with four changes of scenes and
the use of both a camel and a parrot.
They also added a midget, Jerry Merenghi,
to their orchestra cast. . . . This brings
the Golden Gate quartet (remember "Star
Spangled Rhythm"?) back to the screen
with "The Preacher Went a Huntin' "
Veronica Lake returns to the screen after
a six-months illness with eight pounds
added to her shapeliness. Ronnie weighs
106 pounds!
THUNDERHEAD
The magic of a small boy's love for a
horse again weaves a shining pattern in
Thunderhead." It is a sequel to "My
Friend Flicka," and you'll like it even
better. The cast is the same, with Roddy
McDowall playing Ken McLaughlin, and
Preston Foster, Rita Johnson and Diana
Hale in their old parts. The Technicolor
scenery is incredibly beautiful.
Ken McLaughlin is a little older now.
And Flicka, the wild red-gold filly which
galloped the Wyoming hills, has settled
down and become a mother. Her colt is a
shock to Ken. He had bred Flicka secretly
to their neighbor's great race horse, Ap-
palachian, sire of thoroughbreds. But the
colt resembles neither dam nor sire. In-
stead he is pure white and awkward, with
wicked eyes and a wickeder disposition.
"He's a goblin!" Hildy, Ken's playmate,
cries mischievously when she sees him.
"He looks like a white goblin!" Ken is
furious and declares stoutly that a white
colt is as good as any other. But he knows
in his heart that Thunderhead is a throw-
back to "The Albino," the wild stallion
which sired Flicka, and which frequently
raids the ranchers' mares. Thunderhead
has inherited many of "The Albino's"
traits. He drives Ken to tears or rage time
and again during his training. Once he
runs away in pursuit of "The Albino" who
has made one of his periodic descents on
the ranch. Thunderhead returns with
great wounds on his side, made by the
wild stallion. "He's no good," Ken mutters
disgustedly, but he knows he really loves
the colt in the County Races.
And Thunderhead is fast. He has such
tremendous speed that even Ken's father
admits he may turn out to be a race
horse. Ken builds all his hopes on this.
His mother sympathizes, and between them
they persuade his father to let Ken enter
the colt in the County Races.
That race will thrill you — and almost
break your heart as it does Ken's. Thun-
derhead runs so fast he is only a white
streak, but there is more to a race than
speed. I won't tell you the outcome or its
effect on the happenings at the ranch. It's
an absorbing climax to a fine picture, with
Roddy McDowall turning in his best per-
formance to date— 20th-Fox.
P. S.
Author Mary O'Hara possibly couldn't
have written "My Friend Flicka" and this
sequel with such a feeling and understand-
ing for horses and little boys if she didn't
live the part. She has a horse-breeding
ranch and sons of her own who love the
animals as does the small hero of her
Flicka stories. . . . Without the actors and
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direct to Box 23, Camden, New Jersey,
enclosing 250 per set.
Ask your dealer for records of these Victor and Bluebird Artists
Perry Como • Tommy Dorsey • Duke Ellington • Shep Fields • Erskine Hawkins
Lena Home • Spike Jones • Sammy Kaye • Wayne King • Freddy Martin • Hal
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the action, "Thunderhead" would be a
good travelogue. The famed Bridal Veil
Falls, the rugged Oregon Gorges, Utah's
fabulous Bryce Canyon (seen for the first
time on the screen), the impressive
grandeur of Zion National Park, the fan-
tastic formations of Red Rock Canyon and
Cedar Breaks National Monument are all
background for the picture. . . . The pic-
ture's first scene was also the first of the
production's many problems. Roddy Mc-
Dowall is shown finding Flicka with a
newborn white colt. In order to have one
on hand at the proper time, dozens of
mares likely to foal such a youngster were
put under contract. . . . Master of color
photography, Charles Clarke, brings the
production to the public recorded on a
new medium of film. It's called Monopak.
This revolutionary discovery makes distant
objects clear and sharply defined, an effect
never before possible in color films. The
scenes between men and animals were
really made effective by having two of
the stars train with the horses. Roddy
McDowall and Preston Foster put in many
hours getting acquainted and rehearsing
with them, so when the cameras started
rolling they were able to take the animals
through the most difficult scenes without
a hitch. . . . Dwight Cummins and Dorothy
Yost wrote the script from the O'Hara
story. Did such an excellent job that Fox
studio officials, after reading it, increased
the budget far beyond that of the first
"Flicka" picture.
WONDER MAN
You know those double talk songs
Danny Kaye sings. They don't make sense,
but they are wonderful to listen to. Well,
this picture doesn't make much sense when
you try to tell about it, but it's wonderful
to see. Danny is in his own special
comedy groove, and no one in the world
can do it better.
The complicating factor in the plot is
that Danny plays two characters, one of
whom gets murdered. The murder victim
is Buzzy Bellew, night club entertainer,
who is the State's key witness against
gangster "Ten Grand Jackson." Buzzy is
engaged to his pretty dancing partner.
Midge (Vera Ellen), but he doesn't live
to marry her. Jackson's hoodlums bump
him off, do him up in concrete and drop
him in the lake in Prospect Park.
That's when Danny's other role takes
over. Edwin Dingle looks exactly like
the dead Buzzy, but he's his opposite in
temperament and habits. Buzzy was effer-
vescent and slightly mad, Edwin is the
serious, student type. He's in love with a
librarian named Ellen (Virginia Mayo).
So here is Edwin sitting quietly in the
library waiting for- a good book, when
Buzzy's spirit takes possession of him. The
results are startling indeed to the sober
Edwin. Usually the most law-abiding of
citizens, he kicks a cop, and that's only
the beginning. He goes over to Buzzy^s
old night club, and its owner thinks he's
Buzzy and puts him on to do his act.
Fortunately Buzzy's spirit gets control,
and Edwin makes with a lunatic version of
"Otchi Tchornia" which lays 'em in the
aisles.
But "Ten Grand Jackson" is in the
audience, and he is not amused. He gives
his henchmen a cold stare and says, "I
thought you took care of this guy." They
thought so, too, and are having the scream-
ing meemies at the sight of what they
think is a ghost. "Get him this time for
keeps," Ten Grand commands, and from
that moment Edwin is a poor insurance
risk.
There are lots of laughs in "Wonder
Man." Donald Woods, Otto Kruger, Allen
Jenkins and Edward Brophy are among
those who wander through this tall tale.
—RKO
P. S.
The dividing of Danny Kaye into two
equal parts, enabling him to walk with
himself, talk to himself and employ a
different style of acting for each of the
two characters is just one of the wonders
of "Wonder Man" .... With either or
both of the characters in practically every
foot of the film, the picture presented
many difficulties of screen magic hereto-
fore considered insurmountable. Never
before had a dual role of such magnitude
been attempted in Technicolor. The pic-
ture was in production almost six months.
. . . More than fifty sets were used for this
one — ranging in size from the interior of
a delicatessen refrigerator to a huge ex-
terior covering 40,000 square feet (Brook-
lyn's Prospect Park). New York's Metro-
politan Opera house was duplicated for
one sequence, while another called for the
building of a swank night club complete
to dressing rooms, stage and backstage,
bar, checkroom and exterior. Our spies
have it that the number done in the
Metropolitan Opera House out-Kayes any-
thing he's done so far. . . . For the first
time on the screen, he does his "Otchi
Tchornia" number — o hysterical panto-
mime of a famous Russian baritone, aller-
gic to flowers, who tries to sing on a stage
loaded with floral pieces. . . . Mrs. Danny
Kaye wrote music and lyrics for the
"Otchi Tchornia," Bali boogie and opera
number sequences with Ray Heindorf
orchestrating and conducting. . . . The
song, "So In Love," sung by Vera-Ellen
and the Goldwyn Girls, was by Leo Robin
and David Rose.
SALOME — WHERE SHE
DANCED
There's a little town in Arizona where
the sign that greets you says "Salome —
Where She Danced." If you raise an in-
quiring eyebrow, the natives will tell you
that until 1866 the town was known as
Drinkman's Wells. Then along came
Salome —
Salome (Yvonne De Carlo) is a femme
fatale if ever there was one. Beautiful,
devastating, she has broken hearts all over
Europe. But her own has been broken,
too, for she is madly in love with a prince
of the house of Hapsburg, who is forbidden
to marry her. When Germany declares
war on Austria, Salome is dancing in
Berlin. An American newspaperman, Jim
Steed (Rod Cameron), persuades her that
she should act as a spy to help her lover's
country, Austria. She fascinates the Count
Von Bohlen (Albert Dekker) into reveal-
ing Germany's plans to her, but even
while she is succeeding in this, her lover
is killed in the war. Von Bohlen finds out
he has been tricked, and Berlin suddenly
gets too hot to hold Salome. Jim Steed
persuades her and her pianist, Professor
Max (J. Edward Bromberg), to come to
America with him.
"We'll go to San Francisco. There's
piles of money there, and with your danc-
ing and my brains we'll make a fortune,"
he tells her optimistically. Unfortunately
their ship lands them in Galveston, and
it's a long journey by stagecoach from
there to San Francisco. Long — and ex-
pensive. By the time they reach the little
town of Drinkman's Wells, they are stony
broke. Jim decides to put on a show
featuring Salome. It's a sensation, and
the town re-names itself in her honor.
Meanwhile, Salome has met a stagecoach
robber named Cleve (David Bruce), who
looks just like her dead Hapsburg prince.
He's a dashing, handsome ex-soldier, and
LITTLE LULU
Watch for Paramount's latest LITTLE LULU cartoon in technicolor at your favorite theatre
ADA MOHL
A mcmler of tlie cLic inter-
national set in Paris before
I lie war, 6ne is now Fashion
Directress for one of New
York's exclusive shops.
Countess Mokl says:
"I use Djer-Kiss perfume and I've
noticed, now many really smart
women do, too. I know tke
fragrance a woman ckooses is just
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MM/SS
Pronounced
"DEAR KISS"
16
WORLD'S MOST ROMANTIC SCENT
the fact that he makes a living by rob-
bing coaches doesn't bother her too much.
Cleve joins them on the trip to San Fran-
cisco. There another man falls under
Salome's spell— the wealthy Russian, Di-
mitri (Walter Slezak). He builds a thea-
ter for her, and the future looks pretty
fancy, until who shows up but Count Von
Bohlen, just in from Berlin, with murder
in his eye. . . .
"Salome— Where She Danced" is a
lavish, Technicolor production. The new
discovery, Yvonne de Carlo, will probably
receive ten thousand requests from ser-
vice men for pictures of her in the Sa-
lome costume. — Univ.
P. S.
Mr. Wanger spent six months searching
for the "right girl" for this one. All he
required was "exceptional beauty, acting
ability, dancing and singing talent" — that's
the way it read on the casting request.
Everyone at the studio knew it couldn't
be done — that there was no such girl. That
was before they saw the screen tests of
Yvonne DeCarlo, age 20, from Vancou-
ver, British Columbia! . . . Made herself
even more unbelievable when she refused
a double for the horseback riding scenes.
Turned out to be an excellent horse-
woman. . . . Yvonne had a near-serious
accident on the set when the 1865-period
hoop skirted gown she was wearing caught
fire from the electric heater in her dress-
ing room. Yvonne, because of the seven
petticoats beneath the skirt, was unaware
of the heat and walked onto the set with
her dress flaming. Was completely sur-
prised when a property man turned the
hose on her! . . . Something new in medi-
cine was successfully tried when Miss
DeCarlo, suffering from a deeply cut
wound on her foot, insisted on doing the
dancing called for in the day's shooting
schedule. Doctor's "froze" the foot with
a new drug. Yvonne was able to do her
ballerina dance without pain and without
injury to the foot. The amazing fact being
that the muscles of her foot were not
affected by the "freezing." . . . Although
new to Hollywood, there was only one re-
quest Miss DeCarlo could not fulfill. A
Marine, tougher than tradition, handed her
a tattoo needle and said, "Okay, sister
make with the autograph on my arm!"
MOLLY AND ME
The acid wit of Monty ("The Beard")
Woolley and the warm Yorkshire humor
of Gracie Field are teamed again in "Molly
And Me." They both have a way of
making you feel that you are old friends
with the characters they play, and you
come out full of a pleasant conviction that
all's right with the world.
Gracie, as Molly, is an out-of-work
actress who applies for a position as house-
keeper of a de luxe London establishment.
Her employer is John Graham (Monty
Woolley), who is definitely the curmud-
geon type. The butler, Peabody (Reginald
Gardner), doesn't want to hire Molly, but
she finds out he's an ex-actor himself,
also a not-too-ex boozer, and she black-
mails him into taking her on, by getting
him stewed to his supercilious eyebrows
and then threatening to tell Graham.
Once Molly has the job, she starts
making changes right and left. The ser-
vants have been stealing consistently, and
when Molly puts a stop to it, they walk out
in a body, just when Graham has given
orders for a dinner for eight. The dinner
is very important to him, for he has been
proposed as a member of Parliament and
needs the backing of the guest of honor.
Molly, undaunted, gets some of her pals
from show business to impersonate cook,
maid, footman, etc. When the "cook" ruins
AUTOGRAPHS!
"All the good things in Jife are free . . ." Well,
that was a swell idea for a song and an even bel-
ter one for you swell M.S. readers. 'Cause we've
got lots of good things— 155, in fact— and being
offered practically for free! Yup, send in your
quarter and back comes an autographed NAA em-
blem card, a card signed by any star you choose/
P.S. Your 25c plays a double header, gets you
your dream boat's signature and helps feed and
clothe American seamen and their families! P-S-S.
And to really make that "for free" idea hold— send
in a dollar and back will come 5 autographs—
5 for the price ot 4!
June Allyson
Don Ameche
Mary Anderson
Dana Andrews
Jean Arthur
Lauren Bacall
Lynn Bari
Lionel Barrymore
Anne Baxter
William Bendix
Joan Bennett
Ingrid Bergman
Turhan Bey
Janet Blair
Joan Blondell
Humphrey Bogart
Charles Boyer
Eddie Bracken
Barbara Britton
Jim Brown
Eddie Cantor
Claudette Colbert
Ronald Colman
Gary Cooper
Joseph Cotten
James Craig
Jeanne Crain
Dick Crane
Bing Crosby
Xavier Cugat
Helmut Dantine
Linda Darnell
Bette Davis
Laraine Day
Gloria De Haven
Olivia de Havilland
Tommy Dix
Brian Donlevy
Tom Drake
Jimmy Durante
William Eythe
Jinx Falkenburg
Alice Faye
Errol Flynn
John Garfield
Judy Garland
Peggy Ann Garner
Greer Garson
Paulette Goddard
Betty Grable
Farley Granger
Cary Grant
Bonita Granville
Kathryn Grayson
Sidney Greenstreet
Alan Hale
Signe Hasso
June Haver
Dick Haymes
Susan Hayward
Rita Hayworth
Paul Henreid
Katharine Hepburn
' John Hodiak
Bob Hope
Marsha Hunt
Walter Huston
Betty Hutton
Bob Hutton
Richard Jaeckel
Harry James
Gloria Jean
Van Johnson
Jennifer Jones
Brenda Joyce
Danny Kaye
Gene Kelly
Kay Kyser
Alan Ladd
Hedy Lamarr
Dorothy Lamour
Carole Landis
Priscilla Lane
Joan Leslie
John Loder
Myrna Loy
Ida Lupino
Diana Lynn
Roddy McDowall
Lon McCallister
Dorothy McGuire
Irene Manning
Trudy Marshall
Marilyn Maxwell
Ray Milland
Carmen Miranda
Thomas Mitchell
Maria Montez
George Montgomery
Constance Moore
Dennis Morgan
George Murphy
Lloyd Nolan
Jack Oakie
Merle Oberon
Margaret O'Brien
Virginia O'Brien
Donald O'Connor
Maureen O'Hara
Dennis O'Keefe
Michael O'Shea
John Payne
Gregory Peck
Susan Peters
Walter Pidgeon
William Powell
Tyrone Power
George Raft
Ella Raines
Martha Raye
Ronald Reagan
Donna Reed
Ginger Rogers
Roy Rogers
Rosalind Russell
Ann Rutherford
Eddie Ryan
Peggy Ryan
Randolph Scott
Ann Sheridan
Dinah Shore
Phil Silvers
Ginny Simms
Frank Sinatra
Red Skelton
Alexis Smith
Ann Sothern
Barbara Stanwyck
Shirley Temple
Gene Tierney
Franchot Tone
Spencer Tracy
Sonny Tufts
Lana Turner
Robert Walker
John Wayne
Cornel Wilde
Esther Williams.
Jane Withers
Monty Woolley
Teresa Wright
Jane Wyman
Loretta Young
Robert Young
1 Enclosed please find 25c
□ paper-wrapped coin, for
I autographed by
in
an
□ stamps
NAA card
L.
I understand I am to enclose 25c for each
additional autograph I request but that only
$1.00 will now pay for 5 autographs.
My name is
I live at •_•
City ;
State
NAA EDITOR, MODERN SCREEN
9136 Sunset Blvd., Los Angeles 46, Calif.
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the pressed duck and potato souffle, Molly
substitutes duck hash and fried potatoes
is Jimmy (Roddy McDowall), Grahams
apoplexy when they appear on the table.
Fortunately the guest of honor is intrigued.
"Nothing like plain, simple English cook-
ing. Very clever of you, Graham, he
says, taking an extra helping of hash
But the major problem in the household
is Jimmy (Roddy McDowall), Graham's
son. Mrs. Graham ran off with another
man when Jimmy was a baby, and his
father has seemed to resent the boy ever
since. Actually, he's very fond of him but
doesn't in the least know how to handle
him. Molly is sorry for the lad, and with
her usual directness, tells Graham he's
messing up Jimmy's life. About this time,
the former Mrs. Graham turns up, ready
to cause trouble, and it is only Mollys
ready wit that saves Jimmy from heart-
break and Graham from political ruin.— •
20th-Fox.
\ P. S.
Grade Fields, loved the world over for
her ability as a comedienne, has only one
"secret" for her success. She claims it's
her strict adherence to what she terms
"kitchen spice" variety, as opposed to what
she calls, "bedroom spice." ... It has been
suggested that this is the story of the life
of Marie Dressier (some of the plot is
similar to Marie's early struggles as an
actress), but this is not true. This is
neither the story of Marie's life nor of any
other known person — living or dead. Its
an original novel by Frances Marion, based
on the single incident in Marie's life— the
time when she was forced to accept a job
as a domestic. . . . This is Grade's second
American picture ("Holy Matrimony" with
Monty Woolley was her first). . . . She
makes up for her non-singing role in
"Holy Matrimony" by doing six numbers,
including a duet with Monty titled "Al-
ways Eat When You Are Hungry, Always
Drink When You Are Dry." . . . Took a
full day to film the scene in the London
pub in which Miss Fields and friends
attempt to get Reginald Gardiner drunk.
At the close of the day, Reggie had con-
sumed twenty-two glasses of real beer.
The part, needless to say, was played to
perfection!
GENTLE ANNIE
Marjorie Main, the whooping, hoarse-
voiced character actress, has the title rok
in this cops-and-robbers drama. Cop num-
ber one is Lloyd Richland (James Craig),
U. S. Marshal, and the robbers are Gentle
Annie's two sons, Violet Goss (Paul Lang-
ton) and Cotton Goss (Henry Morgan).
The scene is Oklahoma in 1901.
There has been an epidemic of such
hold-ups near the town of Pohoka City,
and Richland is sent out there to investi-
gate. He disguises himself as a hobo and
is thrown off the train almost into the
laps of the Goss brothers. They seem like
nice guys, and he's a little sorry to learn
that they are the prime suspects m the
robberies. He's even sorrier when they
take him home to their ranch and he
meets "Gentle Annie." He likes her rugged
humor and her devotion to the boys.
The local "law" is represented by a
crooked sheriff named Tatum who hates
the Goss brothers. They return his feeling
with interest, for they know, but can't
prove, that he killed their father years
!
On vour mark . . . go! To the first 500 of you who answer this questionnaire
we'll send a FREE COPY of a Dell magazine! Fill in the coupon below and
Tush it to your mailbox post haste, not later than March 20th Your replies with
Z earli^ postmarks wU! be the winners of a FREE COPY of Screen Romances
or Screen Album or another of Dell's exciting books!
QUESTIONNAIRE
What stories and features did you enjoy most in our February issue? Write
1, 2, 3 at the right of your 1st, 2nd and 3rd choices.
Mr. Stardust (Gregory Peck) □
"Spellbound" □
Alice in Motherland (Alice Faye) □
Everyth ing's Jake! (Dick Jaeckel) □
June Ally son, Life Story, Part II . . . □
Tall, Skinny Papa (Bob Walker) .
They Just Couldn't Say Goodbye
(John Payne, Gloria DeHaven) □
Citizen Crane (Dick Crane) □
By Hedda Hopper
Arsenic and Old Love □
Good News by Louella Parsons □
Don't Believe It! (Lauren Bacall) □
Which of the above did you like LEAST? ■ _ _
What 3 stars would you like to read about in future issues? List them 1, 2, 3 in
order of preference -
My name is
My address is
I am
City
Zone
State
.... years old.
ADDRESS THIS TO: POLL DEPT.. MODERN SCREEN
149 MADISON AVENUE. NEW YORK 16. N. Y.
ago. Tatum runs a saloon, and when he
annoys the pretty waitress, Mary (Donna
Reed), she goes out to the Goss ranch for
protection. Richland falls in love with her,
but he knows how she's going to feel when
he has to arrest the brothers who have
been so kind to her. Still, what can de
do? The evidence is piling up fast.
The boys, who trust Richland in his
character as hobo, finally tell him they
are the robbers and ask him to take part
in their next coup. That does it! Now
he's really got to arrest them. But as they
ride back to the house together, they hear
a shot, and when they find "Gentle Annie"
dead on the front porch, the situation
changes. Richland is as anxious as they
are to find her killer, so they go on a last
hunt together. The rest is fireworks.
James Craig makes a nice looking cop.
Being arrested by him would be a pleasure.
Donna Reed is ornamental, too. — M-G-M.
P. S.
Donna Reed was granted a ten-day leave
while this was in production. Donna
wanted to spend Thanksgiving with her
parents on the family farm in Denison,
Iowa. It was the first time she'd been home
in four years. Following the ten-day holi-
day, Donna set out on a two-weeks tour
of Army camps and hospitals in Kansas.
. . . Jimmy Craig has a firm belief that
Western Pictures are definitely good for
the morale of the younger generation—
therefore, makes it a point to make at least
two of them a year. . . . Craig had to be
taken out of the shooting for two days
when his young son (a too -enthusiastic
pupil of the manly art of self defense)
landed a right to Jimmy's jaw that made
a terrific bruise.
EARL CARROLL. VANITIES
A girl wants to do her patriotic duty,
but she also wants to have some fun.
Like Princess Drina of Turania (Con-
stance Moore) . Drina has been edu-
cated in America, and she'd love to stay
here permanently. But no, she's supposed
to go back to the Balkans and marry
the Grand Duke Paul (Alan Mowbray).
He's at least forty, and he's consumed so
much champagne that they classified his
last blood donation as Pol Roget '29.
Drina has been taking lessons in hot
music from "Tex" Donnelly (Eve Arden),
who runs a night club on 52nd Street. "Tex"
introduces her to a young composer named
Danny Farrell (Dennis O'Keefe) . Danny
is something of a genius — he can write
wonderful lyrics and dash off material for
a show at the drop of a hat. He persuades
Earl Carroll to use some of his stuff in the
new Vanities, and he wants Carroll to use
his girl friend, Claire (Stephanie Bache-
lor), too. But Carroll hears Drina, who
has taken over Claire's spot temporarily.
"She's the one I want," Carroll says, while
Danny practically turns green. How is he
ever going to explain this to Claire?
Drina gets a kick out of trying her luck
before an audience in the night club, but
if the Queen-Mother found out, she would
be bundled back to the Balkans. So the
Princess leads a double life.
Danny has fallen in love with her, but
when he finds out she lives in a big Park
Avenue apartment, he jumps to all the
wrong conclusions. Then the Queen-
Mother discovers where Drina is spending
her time and yanks her out of the "Vani-
ties" rehearsals. Things get so completely
"snafu" that you don't see how they can
ever straighten out.
"Earl Carroll Vanities" has lots of music,
gaiety, and enough pulchritude to justify the
old boast "through these portals pass the
most beautiful girls in the world." — Rep.
Take half a minute more
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Product of Bristol-Myers
Mm Mes f/?e Ocfor ouf of Persp/Wion
FANNIE HURST SELECTS "A TREE GROWS IN BROOKLYN"
(Continued from page 6)
I must insist, "almost a success."
The folk story of the Nolans of Brook-
lyn opens in the moiling, toiling din of
the slums. The family lives in abject pov-
erty, the mother scrubbing the foul hall-
ways of the lodging house in which the
family dwells, to help eke out a living. The
father, a neighborhood drunk, is usually
delivered home on the horizontal by the
local cop, while the children contribute to
the family income by way of hard-earned
pennies.
The picture never departs from this
realm of poverty. It therefore becomes the
director's and the adapters' task to keep
luminous and alive those overtones of the
human spirit which are brighter than
poverty is dark.
Johnny Nolan, the father, is an irresis-
tible, beloved vagabond. He has charm,
imagination, and rarer than these', he
knows the heart of a child! But as hus-
band, bread-winner and responsible par-
ent, he lacks just about everything.
For this difficult role, James Dunn must
be set down as a piece of miscasting. He
gives his all with sincerity. But it is not
enough. Mr. Dunn simply has not got
what it takes for this particular role. And
what it takes are the mental and spiritual
vagaries of a minstrel of the open road,
a playboy irresistible, a choir boy who
couldn't grow up. And so on the screen,
Betty Smith's Johnny Nolan, alas, flies out
of the window.
Similarly, Dorothy McGuire's difficult
role as the wife of this tragic and irresis-
tible troubadour husband, must be played
with the complete finesse with which the
character was originally written by Miss
Betty Smith. Otherwise, this harassed,
high-thinking and somewhat straight-
laced young woman of thirty will actually
harden, instead of merely threaten to
harden, as she does in the novel.
Miss McGuire hardens! She plays the
role grimly, coldly, even austerely. She is
a ridden, harassed, penny-biting woman
of the slums who has been licked by her
environment. This is not Betty Smith's
Katie Nolan.
This is all the more surprising because
Dorothy McGuire's role is predicated on
the fact that she is constantly struggling
against this hardening. In the novel, you
do not ever for a moment feel that ultimate
grimness and grayness ever overtake her.
But in the motion picture, they gang up
on her early in the film. Almost from the
beginning, she is a gaunt, bony woman of
the slums, more dead than alive.
This invalidates much of Katie's ulti-
mate romance with the neighborhood cop,
which follows the death of her husband.
One feels almost a spark of pity for the
friendly, amiable, well-meaning young
policeman, who is eager to help put to-
gether the broken lives of Johnny's widow
and her children.
This is as good a moment as any to
comment upon a slight but felicitous bit of
casting. Lloyd Nolan plays the role of
McShane, the neighborhood cop who has
so frequently brought home poor Johnny
flung over one shoulder like a loose sack
of meal, with his usual perfection.
It is not easy to have to follow up the
life and love story of Katie and Johnny
Nolan, who after all were lovers in the
deep sense of the word, with a new ro-
mantic interest so swiftly following upon
Johnnie's death.
Thanks to the simple, endearing quality
of McShane as played by Lloyd Nolan, it
seems quiet and natural and somehow re-
assuring that he should so swiftly appear
as Katie's second husband, and the hope
of her children for a better way of life.
And now we come to the beautiful
ebullience, the flower-like simplicity with
which a little girl named Peggy Ann Gar-
ner dances through the role of Francie.
Peggy Ann characterizes the dreamy,
practical, thoughtful, and wistful child-
hood of this youngster of poverty, with
a perfection that is almost startling. Her
innocence enfolds her like the petals of a
flower and the relationship between the
child and her father is something that not
even the hazard of transferring novel to
screen can tarnish.
It is extraordinary the consistency with
which this picture seems to be miscast.
Grandma Rommely, Francie's maternal
grandmother, is a jarring note in both
casting and writing. Joan Blondell, who
plays the kaleidoscopic part of the loose -
moraled aunt, lives up to neither herself
nor to the character. This is equally true
of most of the minor figures who move
about the plot.
It is a tribute to the picture that despite
these handicaps, and additional ones of
direction that are quite glaring, "A Tree
irresistible lips
//
, \\o \C is/J
There's lure for him
in the rich smouldering tone of
IRRESISTIBLE FUCHSIA PLUM...
in the velvety s-m-o-o-t-h-n-e-s-s
of your lips kept irresistible with
IRRESISTIBLE LIPSTICK. WHIP-TEXT
to be creamy-soft,
non-drying, longer-lasting.
Matching rouge and powder
Grows In Brooklyn" persists, just as the
actual tree in the novel, in blossoming
through the asphalt of the hard circum-
stance of production shortcomings and
giving forth beauty.
The struggle of the Nolan family against
poverty, the exquisite relationship between
the little girl and her drunken, beloved-
vagabond father who knew his way into
her pure heart, the struggle of the dis-
illusioned high-thinking mother, the ab-
surdities and monkeyshines of Sissy, the
scatter-brained marrying sister, do come
through and hold the interest.
It all goes to show that despite mis-
casting and such homespun production
as cotton snowstorms, uninspired street
Scenes, the inner flame of a good and hu-
man story does not easily douse.
There are scenes in this motion picture
which hold together in a kind of static
beauty. One of them, played by Dorothy
McGuire and James Dunn, is memorable.
Things have come to such a pass in the
Nolan household that Katie is finally
forced to the decision that Francie must
give up her schooling and go to work. The
father, who is fundamentally to blame
for the shocking circumstances, is stricken
to the heart. The moment when these two
parents stare at one another across the
chasm of years and disappointments, and
the woman shrieks at her stricken mate,
"Stop looking at me that way!" is top
drama. It is following this moment that
the singing waiter goes out of the door of
his scrub-water tenement, never to return.
There is a memorable moment when, for
the first time in her adolescent experience,
consciousness of a young boy who is smit-
ten with her flashes into Francie's innocent
little face!
And much of the responsibility rests on
the bony, adolescent young shoulders of
this Francie, age thirteen. Her face is a
panorama, her voice inflections subtle, her
ability to listen and the rhythm of her
dialogue high virtuosity.
With all its faults, you can't very well
come away from this picture let down. It
captures enough of the authority and the
Americana and the flavor and the singing
veracity of the novel, to hold the interest.
Even to delight.
A DILLAR, A DOLLAR, A FIVE-
DOLLAR SCHOLAR
Say, did you happen to notice what
a flock of I SAW IT HAPPEN's we
had last month? You see, we thought
if we ran a slew of 'em, they would
show you better than words just the
sort of thing we're looking for. 'Cause
it hurts like heck to disappoint you
swell folk who sometimes send in
three or four entries at a clip, month
after month, without your stuff ever
being used. Well, here's hoping you've
gotten the slant and will start swamp-
ing ye eds.
And remember, you needn't have
swooned in Tyrone's arms or gone
Roseland-ing with Hodiak to hit our
pin-money jackpot. All we want are
warm, human-interest anecdotes, sim-
ple stories with a beginning, a middle
and an end that prove what swell
guys those headliners really are.
It could have happened at a Bond
Rally, a drive-in, school, the grocer's
on Main Street; you could have heard
about it from Janie next door or
Great-Aunt Matilda in Kalamazoo.
But whatever, send it in, and honest to
gosh, if we think the rest of the gang
would like to hear it, we'll dress it
up and scrub its face and plunk your
name smack in the middle of Modern
Screen — and on your five dollar check!
THE MOST BEAUTIFUL GIRLS IN
THE WORLD! THE MOST GLAMOROUS
SHOW ON THE SCREEN!
DENNIS O'KEEFE • CONSTANCE MOORE
mwm
MM
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What to do when your beautiful romance
seems terribly far away and long ago
■ Did you read all that gory business in the paper
the other day about the vast quantities of guys over-
seas who each day get word that their wives or sweet-
hearts are tired of waiting for them? Didn't it kill
you? Reading it, you probably wanted to string
those gals up by their thumbs. Easy does it, chums;
it might have been you. A big bright moon, a guy
who reminds you of Bill. It takes so little to set
you off your course. Just a word or two to help
keep you straight.
That ounce of prevention: That lovely, heart-
stopping feeling you have [Continued on page 24)
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when you're with Johnnie may or may not
be grounds for marriage, swoon stuff be-
ing such a very minor part of deep and
lasting love. Before taking it to the chap-
lain, quiz yourself so: Can you imagine
yourself ever being bored with him, ever
having to apologize for him, ever being
complete without him, ever doubting his
ability to set the world on fire? If the
answers are all no's, you may be a
wishful thinker, but ten to one, it's love.
If a couple of yesses sneak in, no orange
blossoms, baby. Chances are, two weeks
after he left you'd be penning^ him one
of those accursed "Dear-John's." (That's
Army-Navy slang for" a brush-off letter,
or do we have to tell you?)
You forget what he looks like: You
have trouble recapturing his smile and
his sense of humor, and so you get all
dramatic and think you don't love him
any more. Don't be nutty. You see, people
have a way of "adjusting" to things, and
the fact that you've adjusted to your man's
absence doesn't indicate any lack of love.
Rather it shows that you're a well-
balanced person. Before you pen him the
news that you no longer care, try this.
Turn the lights low and put a couple of
"your" songs on the phonograph. "Moon-
glow," maybe. Whatever it was that you
two used to request at all the dances.
Think of a specific date you had. Maybe
your first one; maybe your last. Weep
a little bit. Now just try and write that
letter . . . Corny? Sure. But corn can be
awfully beautiful when there's a perfectly
dandy marriage at stake.
A bird in the hand: You met another
guy at a USO dance or at the office or on
a perfectly innocent blind date, and—
incredible but true— he is the one. Oh,
shame on you. Granted this new man is
probably a swell boy, you may even have
a king-size crush on him, that's no reason
for throwing over the solid, substantial
and— yeah!— sentimental stuff you and
your soldier had. You're acting like a
fourteen-year-old or a skittish gal in her
middle 40's. Before you take pen in hand
for your "Dear-John," survey the whole
business in the bright, honest light of
morning, unencumbered by stars and soft
music. Think of the months or years
you've shared with your Bill, all the
hurdles you've taken together. Think of
the dreams you had and the promises you
made when he went away. Think of him,
lonely and weary, counting so desperately
on you and your love. Doesn't it mean
something? Doesn't it mean a heck of a
lot? Okay. Tell that would-be home-
wrecker that the moon must have gotten
in your eyes for a while, but that it's
out now. As far as Tie's concerned.
Stay off the limb : Somebody said that
marriage is a structure that must be re-
built every day. And that goes double
when your lad is away. How do you do it?
By keeping close to each other through
letters. Write to him daily if you possibly
can. Keep on planning things together:
Your house, your family. Get him to draw
plans for the house. Query him about
names for all those super-children. Put
warmth and affection in your letters. (Our
letters overseas are rarely censored, you
know.) Remember his birthday and all
your private anniversaries. And don't bog
down. It's easy to write volumes in the
beginning, but when he's been gone a
while, it takes some effort. Stick with it!
Maintain your status as a wife or an en-
gaged gal in your community, and in your
office. Talk about the guy, wear his in-
signia. Have his picture in your wallet, on
your bureau, all over the place so that
he's never really very far away. Concen-
trate on your reunion rather than on your
parting. Hang on to the knowledge that
you belong to a pretty wonderful gent,
and let him know that you know. You'll
be rebuilding that marriage of yours
every day. And we're not awfully worried
that you'll go putting yourself out on
any limb.
Co-Ed Mailbox:
I'm so shy I die every time I have to
give a book report in class. At school
parties I can't say boo to a boy. Do people
ever get over shyness? How? Nancy L.,
Ogden, Utah.
Sure, they get over it, Nancy, once they
understand what shyness really is. You'll
slug us for this, but do you know it's
largely selfishness? You are so all-fired
important in your own eyes, that you think
people are concentrating on your every
move, your every syllable. 'Tain't so. Take
the matter of book reports, for example.
Bet you everyone in the room is worrying
far more over what he's going to say when
it's his turn than over whether or not
your slip is showing. At a party, likewise.
Most males are infinitely more concerned
with not tripping over their own tongues
and feet than with whether you do like-
wise. The moral is, relax. Climb out of
yourself. Be interested in other people;
their pet tunes, books, ideas. What they
think about compulsory military training,
politics, Van Johnson. Honest, if you sin-
cerely care about the other guy, you just
can't be shy.
Who writes first, a boy or girl? D. D.,
Forestport, N. Y.
No hard and fast rule here. If a lad
gives you his APO number, for Pete's
sake, don't wait around for him to write.
Dash him off a line. It'll be waiting for
him when he gets There, and don't think
he won't think you're dandy. If you ge
away, you've got a perfectly elegant excuse
for initiating a correspondence. If the
guy is sick and incommunicado, likewise.
Be brief, casual, friendly, and if he doesn't
answer — don't pursue the thing.
I am in a hospital in England. Would
some of your readers please write to me?
George H., Somewhere -in -England.
Gosh, George, this breaks our heart, but
we just can't print your name and address.
You see it's like this. If we did it for you,
there'd be other boys writing in, and then
dozens more. First thing you know we'd
be a pen pal column — which is slightly
out of our groove. Awful sorry, really.
I was stood up by a boy the other night.
How should I act toward him? Betty Horn,
Ann Arbor, Michigan.
Chilly, chum, chilly. No need to flatter
him to the extent of completely ignoring
him, but by your manner let him know
that you consider what he did pretty un-
attractive. Maybe your best friend can
know that you were stood up, but it's kind
of unpolitic to let the word get spread.
Never lower yourself to the extent of
querying the boy about it. And if he asks
you out again, you can't possibly make it.
* * *
Can we help de-dilemma you? You
know there's no problem in the world
that can't be solved ij you get the right
head working on it: Us, we're hot on stuff
like swain-snagging, letter -writing, party-
throwing — most anything you can dream
up. Will you try us on your particular
headache? Send along a stamped, self-ad-
dressed envelope, and the whole thing
will be just between the two of us. If the
whole world can know, initial it, and we'll
print it in our Mailbox. Here's how to
reach us. Jean Kinkead, Modern Screen,
149 Madison Avenue, New York 16, N. Y.
WHY CAS AMES' "PET-APPEAL'
IS HIGH WITH WiG AMERICA!
^^ymmdm ^ vibrant,
tafl^HCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE,"
young star oi ClKC production, says:
a Twentieth-Century lox rrou
. uttle Canary help* start
my day on a cneer .„
Je Ught-hearted and happy
■ B„ paw to care for, so
.t"_and incidentally, the oniy y
P • " . Why don't you have a canary for
sings. • ' the eak of
your very own? rveep n
happiness by feeding the finest-French
Seed and Bird Biscuit.
ssriiria son,
It's an all-over favorite
with canary lovers.
CHECK THE BOXES OPPOSITE THE CHARTS YOITD LIKE * NEW CHARTS ARE STARRED
FOR FANS
SUPER ★ STAR INFORMATION CHART (10c)
Our new, revised 32-page booklet. Latest pics,
births, marriages, heights, weights, number ot
kids, love life of 500 stars. Where to write to
them. New stars, stars in the Service and a
complete section on Western stars. Send 10c
and a LARGE, self-addressed, stamped (3c)
envelope
MUSIC MAKERS. THEIR LIVES. BANDS AND REC-
ORDS (5c) New and exciting data on bands,
bandleaders, vocalists— everyone from James to
Sinatra. 20-page booklet, pictures of each
music maker, lists of their best records. A solid
must for all you hep cats. Send 5c, as well as a
LARGE, self-addressed, stamped (3c) en-
velope L~- ^
HOW TO JOIN A FAN CLUB — Have yourself a
time! Join one or more of the 60 fan clubs
we've listed and get snaps of your favorite star,
club journals, chance for pen pals — and other
splendid advantages! Read about the new
MODERN SCREEN Fan'Club Association. Free,
send a LARGE, self-addressed, stamped (3c)
envelope ' D
INFORMATION DESK — Answers all your ques-
tions about H'wood, the stars and the movies.
See box on page 71 for details. THIS IS NOT
A CHART.
STAR AUTOGRAPHS — Turn to page 12 to see
how you can get autographs of all your favor-
ite stars.
CO-ED PERSONAL ADVICE— Want to know how
you can get that cute guy in Algebra class to
ask for a date? Or when it's cagey to pull a
"hard to get"? Write to our expert, Jean
Kinkead, c/o MODERN SCREEN. Tell her all,
and she'll personally write you a letter answer-
ing all those important, impossible problems of
the heart. THIS IS NOT A CHART.
BE A BETTER DANCER! — by Arthur Murray Com-
plete, easy-to-follow directions on how to fox-
trot, waltz — all the turns and tricks that'll help
you follow your partner. Also dance floor eti-
quette, what to wear and how to be popular
with the stag line. Free, just send a LARGE,
self-addressed, stamped (3c) envelope. ..□
HOW TO BE POPULAR WITH BOYS— by Jean
Kinkead How to be date bait, plus a complete
follow-through for when you're out with him.
The straight stuff on getting stood up, drinking,
smoking, tactics to get and hold your man!
FREE, send a LARGE, self-addressed, stamped
(3c) envelope '■ D
CRYSTAL BALL DEPT
HANDWRITING ANALYSIS (10c) Send in a
sample of your handwriting or your G.l.'s in
ink (about 25 words), and Shirley Spencer will
analyze it for you and tell you how he really
feels. Send 10c for each analysis and enclose
a self-addressed, stamped (3c) envelope. AD-
DRESS YOUR ENVELOPE TO MISS SHIRLEY
SPENCER, c/o MODERN SCREEN, but only
for Handwriting Analysis □
YOUR INDIVIDUALLY COMPILED HOROSCOPE
(10c) Fill in your birthdate: Year.
Month . . . . Date Time.
Name .
PLEASE BEHAVE! — Helpful, practical chart with
tips on how to be poised, well liked. Etiquette
tor dating, engagements, weddings, letter writ-
ing— the works. Free, just send a LARGE, self-
addressed, stamped (3c) envelope □
Street City.
Zor
State.
Send 10c to 149 Madison Avenue, N.Y. 16, N.Y.
No self-addressed envelope required. □
FOR GLAMOU R
GLAMOUR FOR THE TEENS— This is specially
for gals from 1 2 to 18. How to really glamour
yourself up. Skin care, make-up, hair-do's fori
your particular beauty problem. Free, jusfr
send a LARGE, self-addressed, stamped (3
envelope
JSt
HOW TO BE BEAUTIFUL— For over 18s — a beauty
routine, skin and nail care, make-up styled tc
your needs. Free, send a LARGE, self-addressed,
stamped (3c) envelope
HOW TO HAVE LOVELY HAIR — Encyclopedia or
hair care. Hair-do's styled for you, setting in-
structions. Free, sen d a LARGE, self-addressed,
stamped (3c) envelope D
HOW TO LOSE WEIGHT— 12-page chart giving
you all the safe ways to lose weight. 2 easy-
to-follow scientific diets. Exercises for reducing
every part of the body, plus scoring chart. Free,'
send a LARGE, self-addressed, stamped (3c)
envelope Q
FASHIONS FOR TALL GIRLS— by Marjorie Bailey
Whether you're lanky-tall or chubby-tall, here
are lines and styles to camouflage your height
What's tops for you in coats, suits, dresses
Free, send a LARGE, self-addressed, stamped
(3c) envelope D
FASHIONS FOR SHORT GIRLS— by Marjorie Bailey
Fashion tricks to make you the willowy girl of
your dreams. What to choose in dresses, coots
suits, hats to make you inches taller. Frer
send a LARGE, self-addressed, stamped (3(
envelope ■"
FASHIONS FOR STOUT AND THIN GIRLS-
Marjorie Bailey How to appear thinner or mor
curvaceous. Lines and styles that slenderi;
hips, waist, bust, legs and those to cover u
that bony look. Free, send a LARGE, self-
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ADDRESS YOUR ENVELOPE: Service Dept.. MODERN SCREEN. 149 Madison Avenue. New York 16. N.
26
"...comin'to my
sundae social?"
"There's gonna be four kinds-a sundaes! Step
up and take your choice—or try 'cm all!
They're really delicious, 'cause my fav'rite
Karo makes 'em smooth and not too sweet. Mom
says they're easy to make — and don't get "grainy".
They keep well in the refrigerator, so we always
have sundae treats when comp'ny drops in.
And don't forget they're good for you 'cause
Karo is rich in dextrose, food-energy sugar."
\/% c. brown sugar, 6 t bsp. water
firmly packed Dash salt
Blue Label
'Ac
Karo
y% tsp. soda
h.
1 tbsp. butter
Y^c. evaporated
milk
/3 'c "sliced, toasted almonds
Cook brown sugar, Karo, soda,
water, salt and butter over me-
dium beat until a small amount
will form a very soft ball when
dropped in cold water, (232 * ■)■
Cool to lukewarm. Then beat m
milk gradually, and blend 3 to 4
min. Stir in nuts. Makes 1 % cups.
iy c. sugar
y<l tsp. salt
1 c. milk
3 tbsp. butter
y tsP- vanilla
Mix, then cook cocoa, Karo
and water over low heat,
stirring constantly, until
well blended. Add sugar,
salt and milk; stir well.
Cook gently 7 to 8 min. un-
til the mixture thickens,
(220° F.). Remove from
heat; add butter, and beat
until the color starts to
change. Stir in vanilla.
Makes 2 cups.
tee
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I % c. Red Label Karo % tsp. salt
% m 1 whites y2tsp.
CUV> vanilla
^ook Karo over medium heat
until a small amount will form
a soft ball when dropped in
cold water, (234° F.) Whin
egg whites, salt and vanilla
until stiff, ln a large bowl. I
Add hot syrup in four sec-
tions, beating after each ad-
dition. As mix becomes stiff
use wooden spoon. Takes about I
f minutes. When ready, mix- I
ture will stand .in soft peaks ]
when dropped from a spoon. I
Makes 4 cups. Keeps indefi- I
mtely in a covered jar.
For Cake Topping or Filling: I
Use recipe as given. For Sun- I
does (as illus.) or Desserts: Mix I
beapmg tbsp. Basic Cream I
with iy tbsp. hot water ™ I
bruit juice. Blend vigorously S
For Colored Swirl (as Ulm.): I
<-oIor a small portion; stir I
gently through white portion I
with tip of a small knife. I
with just
One Cake of
Camay !
Mrs. William H. Geyer, Notley, N.J.
Her skin is like peach-bloom — exquisitely soft. "Camay is
my beauty soap— now and for always," says this
lovely bride. "My first cake left my skin
SO much softer, I wouldn't think of changing."
It's exciting-to see the fresh new bloom of beauty that one cake of Camay brings
to your skin! So quick, change from improper care to the Camay Mi Id- Soap
Diet. Doctors tested this mild care on over 100 complexions. And with
the very first cake of Camay, most complexions simply sparkled-
looked fresher, clearer, softer!
Make your Camay last and last-
it's made of vital war materials.
These tests gave proof of Camay's mildness , . . proof it can benefit skin.
"Camay is really mild," said the doctors, "it cleansed without irritation!'
No wonder you can expect this Camay care to soften and smooth your skin.
4 tm ^ ¥ja?/?JW cJ{^-At/>J&tetS
Take only a minute, night and morning. Cream that mild
Camay lather over your face-over forehead, nose and chin. Rinse
warm. And if you have oily skin, add a lively C-O-l-D splash!
That's all. And your skin is lovelier with just one cake of Camay.
TO OUR READERS
■ I hate to contemplate all the pounds I've lost sweating out this little
old readers' page of yours. I sometimes wonder if Bill Shakespeare
used to sweat, too. And almost any night after 10 P.M. you'll find
me dreaming I can bounce words around like a billiard ball.
Just this minute, though, I'm suddenly glad I'm not the verbal type.
The Office of War Information has asked me to give you a message
about the country's critical need for nurses that shows up words in
their true colors . . . mere shadows of things.
With words I cannot tell you what a scream of pain sounds like.
I can't tell you what blood from a wound looks like, nor the color of
a man's face when he has bled too much. I can't tell you much about
hope nor about despair. I can't tell you about the expression in eyes
that have known despair on seeing new hope ... a nurse . . . yes, an
angel of mercy. Nor what such a woman means to a man with a
yearning for his mother and his girl.
But I can ask you to think back in your own life to all the suffering
you have known and all the help you have had. I can tell you that
the armed forces are short 12,000 nurses for immediate service and
are anticipating a need of 450 replacements per month. And then,
because you have a heart, I can let you draw your own conclusions.
Yes, you want to help. And you can help. Everyone who reads
this page can help in one or more of these three ways — so please read
on and see where you fit under the requirements and regulations.
1. If you are a registered nurse:
ARMY
Education — High school grad. Grad.
of an accredited school of nursing.
Age — Regulars: 22-30. Reserves: Maxi-
mum of 45.
Must be a citizen of the U. S., physi-
cally fit, married or unmarried.
NAVY
Education — High school grad. Grad.
of an accredited school of nursing.
Age— Regulars: 22-30. Reserves: 21-40.
Must be a citizen of the U. S. for at
least 10 years, physically fit and, while
she may not marry while in service,
will be accepted if already married.
2. To train as a Nurse's Aide:
Education — High school graduate or the
equivalent.
Age— 18-50.
Must pass .the 20-hour Standard First
Aid Course plus an 80-hour classroom,
hospital ward training period. It is ex-
pected that at least 150 hours of service
will be offered per year.
3. To train as a Cadet Nurse:
Education — High school graduate.
Age— 17-35.
May enroll for a combined 4-5 year
academic and nursing program leading
to the degree of Bachelor of Arts with
financial grants available to those stu-
dents so requiring. Upon graduation,
the nurse will pledge herself to prac-
tice essential, if not necessarily mili-
tary or naval, nursing for the duration.
Executive Editoi
Mr. STARDUST
So sorry, girl*! This big swoon guy is rationed, and
pretty Mrs. Gregory Peek is hoarding her coupons.
hum
A
_ golden shimmer of heat lay
over the New York World's Fair. In front
of the Meteor Speedway, a crowd, perspiring
but intent, stood hypnotized by the barkers
husky chant.
"Here you are, folks— the ride of your life!
A mile a minute, a thrill a second! If you've
got any sporting blood in your veins, you 1
try it. How about you, buddy— give your girl
a thrill?"
The tall, dark-haired barker lifted an eye-
brow at a promising looking sucker and
grinned engagingly at the sucker's girl. She
nudged her young man, who pulled out the
price of admission. The rest of the crowd
followed them in like sheep. Two men at the
back moved off slowly.
"He's good, Ed," one of them said. "He s
got the patter, and the girls jgo for him. Where
did you find him, anyway?"
The other man laughed. "He found me.
His name's Gregory Peck, and he's a college
kid from California. A friend of mine on the
Coast gave him a letter to me, and he asked
for a job. I had an interest in this concession,
so I sent him out here."
"What's he going to do when the Fair closes?"
"Oh, he's got some crazy idea he wants to
be an actor."
Gregory looked after them nervously. He
couldn't hear their conversation, but he had
seen the boss watching him. He wasn't exactly
nuts about this job, but on the other hand it
was always nice to be able to eat. The two
hundred bucks he'd {Continued on page 123)
30
Greg got $5000 per for 1st pic. "Valley Of Decision's" his
3rd. He quips, "I'm typed in 'Spellbound' by pJaying a
split personality, because I am split — among 4 studios!"
At the U. of Calif., Sreg majored in Eng., was pre-med —
breakfasted on raw egg and sherry! It was as a Radio
City guide that he announced New Jersey was in B'klyn.
Greta keeps up with theater by cueing hubby
' jjf East, too, when he takes over for Fredric March
for Adano" (he owns 10%), giving
She
in "A
chance to do a pic.
go
Bell
By Virginia Wilson
31
ft
4k
In early days, June was party girl, clowned with Rooney
& gang. Now she and "Richard" are arm-chair generals
poring over maps.
Life was like being
chased by a rolling snowball. Like be-
ing a cripple, then a dancing
star. Like being lonely and finding
such a true love.
Next pic is
"Music tor Millions.
■ So June was an actress on Broadway —
Oh well, a chorus girl, if you wanted to
be technical about it — but no one was being
technical — not where June could hear them.
The girls were thrilled. They chipped in and
sent her an orchid on opening night, and there
was a box of roses from Mother and Dad —
Mummy was half proud, half worried — and,
before the evening was done, pretty mortified.
Because June got balled up, and the curtain
came down with her in front of it, dancing
all by herself. Which was no treat to anyone,
believe her, the way she danced in those days.
They had to black out, to get her off stage-
But Mother didn't say much — not till June
had been working two months and summer
was ending and school about to begin. Then
she asked, "What about being a doctor? Have
you given that up?"
"Gosh, I don't know, Mummy. I keep
thinking how long it'll take. And then — I
keep thinking what fun the stage is — "
"You're not sure, though?"
(Continued on page 70)
I I. .
'it
Boats, books and bowling, plus time out for concerts, mean fun for the
Allyson-Powell combine. June's boning up on math and navigation so she II
-,e able to swap sea lingo with Dick on their Sunday yachting dates.
When her sailor brother, Henry, came visiting after 4 years at sea, June's
landlady phoned to check relationship, kept boy cooling his heels when
June yelped/^'lt's a gagt my brother's on the other side of the world!"
In public, wears tailored suits, mostly blue or black — is
scared silly of salesgirls! Too embarrassed to return a
purchase, she now waits till a friend can check her buys.
A
friend said recently to Alice
Faye Harris, "Have you seen the new hats?
The windows in Beverly Hills are simply
too mad!"
Alice grinned. "I haven't been near Beverly
Hills for three weeks. And before that very
brief trip three weeks ago, I hadn't been near
a clothes shop for almost two months. I'm
strictly a ranch type now."
By the time you read this, young Phyllis
Harris will be a year old. Many months be-
fore Phyllis arrived, Alice had rearranged her
life; that routine has changed but little for
a year. Alice told everyone that she liked the
routine so much that she didn't want to go
back to the studio at all, ever. She wanted,
she announced, to be a housewife and mother.
Something has changed that attitude — about
which, more later. First, let us. examine that
original routine.
Alice and the children awaken fairly early
because Baby Alice is now going to nursery
school five mornings a week. She is learning
to adapt herself to other children, to weave
rugs for her doll house, to play simple melo-
dies on a miniature piano. Not quite three,
Miss Harris is already a personality.
Once Baby Alice is off to school, Mommy-
Harris plans the day's meals, drives to a rural
market to do her shopping, returns in time to
help the nurse bathe Phyllis. She does gar-
dening or supervises Phil while he takes care
of some household disrepair. On broadcast
days, Alice sometimes accompanies her hus-
band to the station, but more frequently she
listens at home.
She has been caring for her own hair, and
she says — exhibiting {Continued on page 89)
ased due to those weight-whittling
Alice's sundae • rations have increas__
hunting trips and bowling sessions she enjoys with the athletic Phil.
Strictly anti-doodad, she lounges in slacks, wallows in heavy perfume.
MOTHERLAND
By Fredda Dudley
Alice, who's just signed a 7-year contract with Darryl Zanuck, is
toting along 3-year-otd Alice, Jr. on the Harris-Jack Benny gang
hospital tour. 13-month-oJd Phyllis is sitting that one out.
The Harrises had the Sentimental Set wettish-eyed when they celebrated their
3rd anniversary at the same nitery table where they'd had their 1st date.
Texas pal Sam Maceo gave Pop, Mom and Alice, Jr., identical "zebra" robes.
35
By Kirtley Baskette
1
Guam, Saipan, Leyte — all
ports of call to the kid with the
grin and a yen for the
sea, Dick Jaeckel
Dick didn't have nerve to face Mother with wispy mustache
grown on first voyage, so shaved it off before docking! At
home found stacks of ties in Christmas packages trom tans.
■ The C-l had her hook dropped out in the stream off
the lee of Saipan when the Mitsubishis came over.
Ordinary Seaman "Jake" Jaeckel was sacked down in
sweet repose on Number Four Hatch cover with prac-
tically nothing on, because even at early pre-dawn it's
still plenty warm in the tropics. Jake was dreaming of
a White Christmas, or its California equivalent, and
it was the AA guns' steady thugg-thugg-thugg from the
U. S. Navy cruiser lying out past the cargo ship that
snapped him out of it.
Jake knew it was no Christmas tree he saw in the
sky as his gray eyes popped open. All the warships
were playing tunes with their Chicago pianos now, and
the shore batteries were awake and angry. Glowing
tracers streaked the sky. Orange, lemon and lime ack-
ack bursts -now and then sent a Jap bomber whirling
out of the dark like a giant, flaming pinwheel. Marine
fighters roared up off the strip spitting tracers. The Jap
bombs landed with distant air-shuddering ?Whumphs!"
and fire blasts that lighted up the shore like a movie set.
"Jap raid!" gasped Jake, and like a dozen other
sailors, he bounded to the bow rail in his shorts, spinning
his tow head around in all (Continued on page 104)
1. Dr. Constance Petersen's (I. Bergman) sole
thought is of twisted . minds at Green Manors
despite Dr. Fleurot's (John Emery) wooing.
2. But her one-track mind wanders when
handsome new doctor, Edwardes (G. Peck),
arrives. She senses he's under terrific strain.
4. Constance discovers he's not real
Edwardes. When she confronts him
with proof, he confesses to murder!
3. They fall deeply in loVe almost immedi-
ately. He collapses during emergency opera-
tion, mutters deliriously about "murder."
5. Realizing he's a psychiatric case himself, she refuses
to believe him. He mysteriously disappears just before Dr.
Edwardes' secretary and the sheriff arrive to question him.
38
6. Constance finds his note, follows him to N. Y.,
promises to stick by him. He has amnesia, and all
she can find out is that his initials are J. B.
7. Pursued by police, they go into hiding. She
comes to old teacher, Brulov (Michael Chekhov),
for help, and together they continue grilling.
By Maris MacCullers and Charis Zeigler
9. Against J. B.'s judgment, he and Constance go
to ski trail to reenact evenrs of fatal day. Halfway
fe when cliff vawns in
eir pat
10. Convinced Edwardes died by accident, they inform police.
When bullet-ridden body is found beneath cliff, J. B. is arrested
for murder! Once again, Constance sets to work to clear him.
STORY: The pleasant, rolling countryside lay outside the
window like a painted landscape, green now in summer,
dotted with trees, bearing its soft hills gently upward to
a blue sky. Doctor Fleurot pointed out of the window.
"It's pretty," he said.
"It soothes the patients," Constance said. "It serves
a purpose."
"Doctor Petersen," Fleurot said. "Always the doctor."
"Should I be anything else?" Constance said sharply.
"You might try being a woman."
"And fall in love?"
"Perhaps."
"With you?"
"Perhaps." '
Constance tapped her pencil {Continued oh page 99)
PRODUCTION: Selznick had just finished this picture
(and everyone from the front office to the back lot was
pretty proud because it turned out to be such a good
picture) when. the tenth anniversary of Selznick Pro-
ductions rolled around, so they decided to give them-
selves a party. Sure, they know there's a war on ! They
went right ahead and had a party anyway! Shirley
Temple was there and Ingrid Bergman and Gregory
Peck and Monty Woolley and a long list of equally
famous stars. There were actors from other studios
and directors and producers and script girls and janitors
— matter of fact, Selznick invited just about everyone
in town. This was one swank party which the public was
urged to attend. The place: the front lawn of the
studio on Washington Boule- {Continued on page 121)
39
Out of a marriage too strong
1
to break and too weak to
last, Bob Walker sal-
vaged some of the essence
. . . his bogs, blue-eged
Bobbg and Mike • Bg Jack Wade
0,
Wayne, sergeant |
night. While
rrom brother
nHustinfromT Pacific. Other brother's in Italy.
earthside hugger Bob keeps fires going every i
akinq "The Clock," he had unexpected visit t
J nee, when Bob Walker was making "See
Here, Private Hargrove," he strolled past a sound
truck parked outside the stage, and poked his inquisi-
tive nose inside. Bob was new to Hollywood then,
and everything about movie-making fascinated him
no end. He asked the sound man to let him wear
the earphones.
About that time another actor also strolled by
the truck. He observed Bob happily kibitzing on the
sef dialogue, mused "H-m-m-m-m" to himself and
ducked quickly inside the big M-G-M stage.
In a minute, Bob Walker's ears began to burn., His
eyes popped, and his mouth dropped open.
He heard the director say in an annoyed voice,
"Well, what are we going to do about this jerk,
Walker?"
He heard the producer reply sadly, ' I don t know.
Looks like we're stuck."
"He's terrible. He can't act."
"I know. He's lousing up the picture."
They sighed heavily in chorus. "I guess there's
only one thing to do," said the director. "Cut his scenes
and give them to that sterling actor, Keenan Wynn."
Bob jerked away the earphones and stumbled out
of the truck. He tottered inside the stage in a mood
to resign his contract on' the spot, go home and turn
on the gas. Then he bumped against Keenan Wynn,
who inquired in round-eyed innocence, "What's the
matter, Bob? You look pale. Don't you feel well?"
The sudden concern was too touching; the oily in-
quiry too bland. It dawned on Bob that he'd been
framed. He chased Keenan around the set.
Bob Walker's a perfect set-up for a gag like that.
He takes his acting seriously. (Continued on page 84)
40
By Jeanne Karr
UST COULDN'T
SAY GOODBYE
No sparks flew, y'understand,
and no bells rang when Johnny Payne met
Button De Haven. But somehow, it wasn't
right, being separated . . .
■ Cupid's not necessarily fat and dimpled. This
time he's lean and dark, and his hair is crewcut and
his name's Al Delacorte and, when he's not shooting
arrows on the side, he runs MODERN SCREEN.
Al Cupid came to Hollywood last September,
and the Alan Ladds threw him a party, to which
all the people on your poll were invited. Check-
ing the guest list with Sue, Al got inspired—
"Does John Payne go with anyone special?".
"I doubt it," said Sue. "He's fresh out of
the Army."
"How about Gloria De Haven?"
"That I wouldn't know—"
"Be nice," murmured our editor dreamily, "if
John could bring Gloria — "
So Sue called Gloria. Yes, she'd love to come
to the party. No, there was nobody special she
wanted to bring —
"Well, look, do you know John Payne?"
"I know who he is, of course, but I've never
met him — "
"He's a terribly sweet boy and an old friend
of ours, and he's been in the Army for two years
and — well, I wonder how you'd feel about coining
with him — "
Gloria was a little taken aback. "I don't know
— exactly. I've never done anything like that be-
fore. But — I guess it (Continued on page 110)
Becoming Mrs. John Payne cost Gloria an even 2500 smackers.
Seems she'd been offered that much for a spot on a nat.onal a.r
show turned it down because it interfered with brief honeymoon.
Johnny daily staggered away from triple-p.c sched. to work on
new home. Had to knock down walls to enlarge rooms, redecor-
ated nursery of daughter Julie, now in Mom Anne Sh.rley s custody.
L told papers she'd go mad without smokes, got thou-
sands from G.l.'s who wrote, "We don't want you to go
crazy honey." Note Craig Stevens' ring, duplicate ot wite s.
Lauren has a model's grace, a trouper's desire to play
character, not sugary, roles. Frankly asks about Bogart in
"To Have etc.," "Don't you think we get away with a lot/
By George Benjamin
¥■ ,
lectrifying news as MODERN SCREEN went to press was
ogie's announcement of a romance with Lauren that looked
ke future .wedding bells. Mrs. B. hadn't been heard from.
■ Betty Bacall has a couple of light gray eyes that
look at least a foot wide apiece. When she reacts, she
puckers a faint frown between them and shoots you a
low, sultry gander with more steam behind it than a
freight engine. It's something Betty can't help. It's
natural. And already it's made her famous.
You saw it if you saw "To Have and to Have Not."
Humphrey Bogart calls it the look "From Down
Under." The other day Jack Benny wandered on the
set of Betty and Bogie's latest rough, tough whodunit,
"The Big Sleep." He wanted to meet Bacall. Betty
wanted to meet Jack Benny, too. He's one of her
favorites, and there were a lot of things she wanted to
ask him.
Bogie led Jack over. "Hey, Charlie!" (That's what
Bogie calls Bacall.) "Charlie, this is Jack Benny.
Give him the 'From Down Under.' "
Betty gave with the "Down Under."
"Now make him the Monkey Face."
Bacall made the Monkey Face. It's weird.
"H-m-m-m-m-m," said Jack. He looked again, al-
most swallowed his cigar. "H-M-M-M-M-M!!" Then
he walked away like a man in a daze. He never said
a word. The romance was over, right now.
"I wonder if I scared him," mused Betty.
It was inevitable that Betty Bacall should get her-
self a Hollywood label right away. In these days when
everybody's something — the Voice, the Body, the Face,
the Feet. Already, around Warner Brothers where she
works, Bacall's "The Look." That guy Bogie tagged
her with that one the first time {Continued on page 115)
How about the Bacall Voice — the Bacall Look — and Bogart?
You've heard rumors. Now gather 'round for the lowdown!
CITIZEN CRANE
■ On the fourteenth of every month Dick Crane and
his pretty new wife, Kay Morley, have a very particular
program they never skip. On that day. around dinner
time, Dick drapes his famous torso in his best dark
suit, and Kay tuqks up her hair in a glamour-do and
slips into her dreamiest decollete formal. They lock
the door of their honeymoon .cottage in Laurel Canyon
to the protesting yelps of their white terrier, Muffins,
and roll down the hill to Hollywood in Dick's battered
'39 flivver.
They pick the best cafe in town and the best dinner
on the menu, and they eat it slowly, holding hands
under the table like a couple of moonstruck kids. They
dance a few dreamy dances squeezing each other close
and sighing happily as if there wasn't another soul on
the floor. Then they chug back home early, and Dick
drives very expertly with one hand.
It's not exactly an event that makes headlines in
Hollywood society sections. But to Dick and Kay it's
the gayest, most gala night of the month, and always
will be — for a very special reason.
Because it was on a certain fourteenth, a few months
ago, that Dick Crane strolled into a Sunset Boulevard
restaurant, leaned his muscles against the bar and
ordered a Pepsi. He was lonesome, so when he spied
his agent, Bert Marx, dining with a girl he table-
hopped over. When the girl looked up, Dick wondered
what had hit him {Continued on following page)
Dick's
azine
Linda
been a confirmed MODERN SCREENER ever since his first mag-
sitting for the Nov. issue. Above, sharing the wealth with
Darnell and his co-star in "Bon Voyage," Jeanne Crain.
Preparation of the Crane steak supreme involves garlic, butter,
onions, 10 or 12 sauces and musclework! Born in Newcastle, Ind.,
June 6, 1918, his motion pic record is 67 scenes in single day!
Wife larely indulges his weakness for ice cream, instead keeps him trim
on fruit dessert. His pet story concerns time during picture when he and
horse tumbled, and horse got up laughing "and slowly walked away.
Of all his various Jobs from hashiny to trucking, he observes, "I
figured I learned something about people from each one, and the
experiences would probably help me become a better actor.
CITIZEN
CRANE
to make him act like he did. Crane just isn't the
wolf type. Yet he heard himself saying to this
beautiful brunette, "I'm not the kind of guy who
goes around asking girls I've just met for their
telephone numbers. But I'd sure like yours!"
And he heard the girl reply, "Well, I'm cer-
tainly not the kind of girl who gives her telephone
number to strange men I've just met, either!"
Then just when Dick's heart reached the bottom
dip of the roller-coaster, he heard, "But— well,
here it is."
That was one fourteenth. It took Dick Crane a
whole month to get up nerve enough to call this
dream girl, but when he finally made the team, he
looked at the calendar and there it was — the
fourteenth! So what went on next but that a
Santa Monica judge made them man and wife
last November in a secret wedding. And when he
signed the marriage (Continued on page 94)
48
She's Engaged!
She's Lovely!
She uses Pond's!
There is quicksilver magic about
Lola Pierce's beauty — her arresting
blue, blue eyes, the radiant clarity
of her exquisite complexion.
She's another engaged girl with
that adorable Pond's look. "I cer-
tainly do love Pond's Cold Cream,"
Lola says. "It has such a perfect way
of making my face feel gorgeously
clean — and ever so soft."
How she beauty-creams with Pond's:
One — She smooths snowy-white Pond's
Cold Cream completely over her face and
throat. Pats quickly to release dirt and
make-up. Tissues all off.
Two — She rinses with more Pond's,
swirling her cream-coated fingers quick-
ly round and round her face. This to
make her face extra clean, extra soft.
Then she tissues off again.
Use Pond's this twice- over way —
night and morning — and for in-
between-time beauty clean-ups too!
Her face is engagingly soft and smooth. "I just leave it to Pond's!" she says.
Her engagement to Lieutenant I. C. IVoyes, U.S.N. R., was announced by her parents
HER RING — an exceptionally beautiful,
clear diamond, flanked with smaller
diamonds and set in platinum.
FOR THE DURATION— Lola has volun-
teered as a Nurses' Aide, serving at the
hospital regularly each week. "It's grand
to feel that I can do something so badly
needed," she says. Your local hospital is
short-handed for nursing help right now.
Why not find out how you can help there?
A FEW OF THE POMI S
SOCIETY BEAUTIES
Mrs. William K hint-lander Stewart
Mrs. Morpan Belmont
Lady Kinross Mrs. A. J. Drexel, hi
Lady Louis Mountbatten
BOND'S
She helps at the hospital — taking tempera-
tures, bathing patients, carrying trays!
GET THE BIG LUXURY SIZE— You'll
like its wide top that lets you dip in
with both hands. Such a grand lavish
feeling! Get your own big jar of soft-
smooth Pond's Cold Cream today! At
beauty counters everywhere!
49
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so lustrous, yet so easy
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Only Drene with Hair Conditioner
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so alluringly smooth!
If anl all your hair-dos to look more glamorous? Then
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Removes every bit of dandruff the very first lime you
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1
FltOM THE GIRLS WHO KNOW
Lisa Fonssacrives . . . glamorous New York
fashion model, Cover Girl and "Drene Girl"
. . . shows you (above) her lovely new eve- ,
ning hair-do for Spring! The adorable hair-do -,
gadget is just wired ribbon, bent into shape,
then covered with flowers. Your milliner
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Tonight . . . don"t put it oft . . . shampoo your
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'"Wit*,*' fc 'f»i/r00oC>ed f «*«
Lisa adores 'hair-do gadgets!
But says,"Makesure that they,
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the mood of your clothes!"
Every hair in place is her
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And, says Lisa, "for shining-
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there's no shampoo like Drene
with Hair Conditioner!"
•••'v^-v.->^;w-N w^f^14 '^v*-1^^?' - "■•/'•riLL;' f&!^**gKiflfcg aaflgwneflai
H8EP
t0JJB
by Hedda Hopper
Hedda Hopper's lowdown
on those Hollywood "We parted
the best of friends" divorces
The Vaughn Paul-Deanna
Durbin smashup wps so final they couldn't even
"reconcile" convincingly for publicity pictures!
■ Can't they' be friends? You know the answer
to that one. Hollywood didn't invent the divorce
court. Oh, we've done our fair share and a bit
over to keep them in business. But you must
have run up against a divorced couple or two—
or three? — in your own neck of the woods. Can
they be friends?— Same here. Some cam some
can't. As a non-literary gent of my acquaintance
used to say, "It's accordin' to the poisson — "
Kiddies don't seem to be the decisive factor.
Offhand, I think of five Hollywood marriages
blessed by the patter of little feet, then broken.
Of these, two pair are friends — John Payne and
Anne Shirley, Bob Walker and Jennifer. Flynn
and Damita aren't. Neither are Joan Blondell
and Dick Powell. Nor, Lana and Stephen Crane-
Now I'm no analyst, and I don't propose to
go delving into souls. Of course, it would be
nice if I could bring you information straight
from the horse's mouth. But we columnists don't
have working agreements with the horses — no
offense to man or beast intended. All we can
do is rush in where angels fear to tread, and you
know what that makes us.
I tried it with Bob Walker. He'd been chat-
ting amiably "enough, soaked to the skin though
he was from a water scene. Till I ups and chirps,
ever mindful of my duty to my public, "And do
you and Jennifer plan to re-marry, Bob?"
"If you'll excuse me, -Miss Hopper, I think I'll
go get some dry clothes."
Sure, we crack the [Continued on page 55)
52
Despite- their knock-down, drag-
out tiffs, Mayo Methot's always been
madly in love with Bogie.
Steve Crane and Lana Turner parted the
worst of friends. Altho her mom's friendly with him,
Lana's always out when he calls on Cheryl.
No heartbreak when hermit Brent
and personality girl Annie realized they weren't
made for each other.
ne Shirley tried
save their marriage for the sake of
re still friends.
Dick Powell and Joan Blondell
stayed mad. She has custody of the
kids; he sees them irregularly.
53
Elsie Reade, a Pursuit Pilot's wife, is shown
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54
The town's puzzled over the
case of undivorced Bob Walker and Jenny
Jones and their constant dates.
George Raft was heartbroken when Betty
Grable broke up with him, after three years of wait-
ing for his divorce to come through.
whip and they run, but the wrong way. Corrigans at heart.
The point I make is this. What I know, I'll tell you,
and we've got our own methods of gleaning knowledge.
But don't look to me for psychological research. The
ghosts people wrestle with in the night might change the
whole picture. But they're beyond the ken of the
peepingest eye.
It's obvious that Flynn and Damita couldn't be friends.
As well ask a couple of volcanoes to shake hands. They
lived across the road from me. I've seen him kiss the
top of her head with such tenderness, I wanted to bawl.
And I heard the echoes of the final storm that broke
them up — -
Errol's the original lone wolf, never meant to be a
husband. Lili was bitter because he didn't welcome the
child. If he ever mentions his son's name, I've never
heard tell of it. But a picture of Sean smiles up from his
dresser at home. Lili spends most of her time in Florida,
Errol favors Mexico for vacations. Their paths don't
cross —
However, Lili brought suit against him not long ago.
Little matter of income tax on {Continued on page 56)
55
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her alimony which, according to her, he'd
agreed to pay.
"Did you agree?" one of my colleagues
asked him.
Errol, I must say, stands firm under at-
tack. "Why should I?" he grinned. "Might
establish a precedent. Next thing, I'll be
paying for the safe deposit box where she
keeps my money."
•The Powell -Blondell bitterness is harder
to crack. One of those so-called ideal mar-
riages that explodes in your face. Dick's
friends call it a triangle. Joan's friends say
that Dick's clutch was too tight on the
purse-strings. Mutual friends use that
overworked word, incompatible.
Dick's as crazy about Joan's Norman as
about his own Ellen. In the heyday of their
bliss, he adopted the little boy. After the
separation, he bought a house, thinking
he'd have the kids for weekends. It didn't
work out. So he lives with his father in
North Hollywood, sees the children of
course, but not at regular intervals. Now
there's the Ally son angle. June and Dick
are constantly together. Will they marry?
—You tell me.'— The divorce won't be final
till June, they say, so marriage talk's silly.
You recall that the Payne-Shirley bust-
up was another of those thunderbolts. But
Anne and John were loyal. Neither had an
Unkind word to say of the other. On the
contrary. You felt that they'd reached
their decision with prayer and anguish,
and your heart ached for both of them.
For the longest time, Hollywood hoped
they'd get together again. It wasn't to be.
Julie was their prime concern — that
Julie shouldn't suffer for the mistake
they'd made. When John and Gloria De
Haven fell in love, he sent her to see Anne.
The girls like and respect each other. Julie
won't be torn between two factions. With
a child's happiness at stake, they acted like
civilized adults instead of spoiled brats.
The day John married Gloria, I ran into
Anne at the hairdressers'.
"Well, what do you think?" I asked, pre-
pored for the snub total, because Anne had
never opened her yap to the press.
I was pleasantly surprised. Eyes shining,
voice soft, she said: "You know, Hedda,
I'm marrying Adrian Scott, and I'd like the
whole world to be as happy as I am. But
especially, Gloria and John. Because
Julie's happiness is all mixed up with
theirs, so mine is, too!"
Jennifer Jones and Bob Walker have
also managed to salvage treasure from the
wreck. Of course, the situation's different.
Neither is involved with anyone else. No
divorce has been applied for. They> see
each other all the time. Jennifer won t so
much as hire a nurse without consulting
Bob When she goes out of town, he moves
in to take charge of the kids. He helped
trim their tree, and they all spent Christ
mas together.
Most of us gasped at the notion of Bob
and Jennifer as lovers in "Since You Went
Away," which started production right af-
ter the break. They took it calmly. Onb;
time they felt awkward was when peopl
stared, wondering how they felt. Acting
a passion with them both— to such a de
gree that they can divorce the person
from the professional. Each intensely ad
mires the other's ability. Bob says he
rather work with Jennifer than anyone
Hollywood. Some day they hope to do
play together. Each will talk with pleas
ure about the other— except on one pom
Mention the break, and they're clams. Bo
goes for dry clothes. Jennifer shuts h
pretty, mouth. I'm licked.
Lana Turner's a law unto herself. Al
ways was, always will be. In love wi
Greg Bautzer, she married Artie Shaw o
the rebound. (Just one woman's opinio,
on which she refuses to be budged.)
(Continued on page 67)
It's an eyeful in
TECHNICOLOR. . .
and a FORTUNE in FUN!
PARAMOUNT'S
■
starring
/
VERONICA LAKE"
SONNY TUFTS
EDDIE BRACKEN
j^MARJORIE REYNOLDS
with
Johnny Coy • Peter Whitney
Alan Mowbray • Porter Hall
Spike Jones and His Orchestra
Directed by
Sidney Lanfield
BRING ON THE DANCING
who trips the light.
A
of nimble Johnny Coy
fantastic fantastically!
When actor Paul Brooks spotted plea in local newspaper asking
for dolls for needy kids, he staged a party to promote the idea
His steady gal, Jeanne Craln, hostessed and assembled loot.
Ann Rutherford and Bob Hutton led singing at Brooks party. All
Hollywood's gone overboard for peek-a-boo handbags, each ga
trying to outdo her cronies in filling bag with precious items!
Judy Garland engaged to Vincent
Minelli ... No divorce for Bob Wal-
ker .. . Kidnappers threaten Grable.
"You pay the cover charge and I'll dance with your wife," quipped
Van Johnson to Keenan Wynn, at table with Evie's sister, Sally Hancock.
Van appears daily at studio in charro outfit bought in Mexico!
58
V.
Since he owns no phone in his hilltop home, Bill Eythe has a friend on neighbor-
ing peak take his messages on their phone, flash messages across wide valley to
him via signal code. Above, with 5' 2" "Dresden doll" June Haver at Mocambo.
Lana Turner's starting new vogue for pierced ears and pendant earrings and
giant feather crests. Although Turhan Bey still refuses to talk about her, even to
his studio, he's lifted self-imposed ban on being photographed with her!
• Just a few new little things about Frank Sinatra:
He likes you particularly it you call him "Frank"
instead of "Frankie" or "Frankie Boy."
If you are a gal, and he likes you, he calls you
"Baby."
He doesn't like unexpected callers.
If he comes to your house, he isn't flattered if you
insist on playing his records all evening long.
"Heard 'em all a hundred times," he grins.
He hates those Hollywood drag-around telephones
and won't talk over the 'phone when he is eating.
He's curious and always looks out the window
to see who is calling on the neighbors.
He's forgetful about telling people that he can't
come to parties and wonders why they get a little
peeved with him because of it. He never gets
peeved when somebody fails to show at one of
his parties.
He likes red on blondes and white on brunettes.
And here's a little secret: Shhhhhh — but he's
getting tired of those bow ties!
* * *
Gloria De Haven is so much in love with John
Payne that she just goes around looking for things
to do for him. "I'm not going to be one of those
career wives who lets a husband go around getting
out his own laundry," sniffs little Gloria, who is
the cutest bride in town.
The other day Johnny actually thrilled her by
asking her to do something for him. He was late
to the studio, but he wanted a pair of shoes shined,
and he asked Gloria if she would drive over to
the village, wait while they were shined, and then
bring them to him before ten o'clock.
Little Mrs. Bride was so thrilled with an honest-
to-goodness domestic chore to do that she decided
to go all the way! She'd shine the shoes herself!
But in her anxiety to get at the polishing job, she
forgot to look at the bottle and poured black polish
all over Johnny's brown shoes!
Scared to death she would be discovered, she
drove like mad into Beverly Hills to buy him a new
pair with her one remaining precious shoe coupon
— but the Beverly stores don't open until 10 o'clock
— the time he needed his shoes for the first scene.
The next thing that happened was that she got a
"flat" on the way to the studio and had to wait an
hour and a half to get it fixed. At noon, a frantic
little bride dashed onto Johnny's set crying her
eyes out.
"Oh, you needn't have gone to so much trouble,
Baby," said Johnny nonchalantly, "I had left the
59
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shoes I realty needed in my dressing room
last night!"
* * *
I love her, but so help me, Betty Hutton
whips up some of the darndest rigs. She
showed up for a "personal" at the Holly-
wood Canteen the other night wearing a
tight, black satin cocktail suit, tennis shoes,
a tweed coat, her hair in pigtails with two
red bows tied on the ends!
The entire effect was that of a sexy Sis
Hopkins.
* * *
After "Kiss and Tell," Shirley Temple won't
have to go to school on the set any more.
Since Shirley is kissed twenty-two times in this
picture, maybe it's just as well that a school
ma'am is still around.
* .* *
Wonder where Joe Cotten developed that
mad attachment for bright yellow gloves?
He wears them all the time — daytimes, of
course.
But on him — they look good.
* * *
Lana Turner dropped over to see me the
other day, and you can take my word for it
—she's deeply in love with Turhan Bey. She
talks about him just as though he were a
little boy. And when a girl gets maternal
about a man— look out. She said, "I call
him my child boy friend!"— and Lana's
only twenty four!
* * *
I was one of the early arrivals at the party
M-G-M threw in honor of Modern Screen's
fifteenth anniversary. (Pictures will appear in
the June issue.) I came in with Hedy Lamarr
who wore a filmy grey chiffon dress especial-
ly designed to hide her figure. She looked
so beautiful when she told me she hoped it
would be twins. I had to say, "Oh, that's
too much, Hedy. Imagine two more looking
exactly like you!"
Judy Garland, wearing the last gasp in
tailored suits, was being kissed by. many
M-G-M'ers who hadn't seen her since the an-
nouncement of her engagement to Vincent
Minnelli. She was also getting a lot of kid-
ding about the change this romance has
made in her personality. "She actually ar-
rives on the set on time she's so anxious to
get away!" they heckled Judy.
Cute little Elizabeth Taylor, all done up in
red, arrived with a chipmunk on c leash!
She's crazy about her pet— but it looks too
much like a small rat to me! Since -"National
Velvet," Elizabeth is rated as one of M-G-M's
most important stars, so I suppose she can
keep on leading the 'munk around.
Robert Walker came in "stag" now his
romance with Shirley Patterson is over. He
and Jennifer Jones are not going to get an
immediate divorce— and may never file. It's
the chUdren. Separated or not, they are de-
voted parents.
The saddest-note-oi-the-month: Joe E. Brown's
little daughter, Mary, injured in that crash
t?lendale branch of Sinatra fan club (WAFS) donated completely furnished
recreation rooms to Birmingham Hospital, in Frankie's name. He and Burns
and Alan had radio crew in hysterics before, after and during show!
It's rumored Clark Gable is currently romancing with cover girl Anita
Colby. Good news in the Lucille Ball heart department: She and ex-hubby
Desi Arnaz revived the flame on holiday vacation in Idlewild, Calif.
Now that Bob Landry romance is off, gossip links
Deanna Durbin with Felix Jackson. Her 1944 salary
from Univ. reached astronomical heights of $282,250!
Flynn's one of those lucky dogs who rolls his own
smokes, so he isn't suffering from ciggie shortage. Pals
with Bruce Cabot, honorably discharged from Army.
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with Freddie Bartholomew's car. has de-
veloped complete paralysis oi the right side
of her face. But the doctors are hoping it is
just a temporary thing.
And speaking of heartbreaking things— how
splendid that the tragic shooting which re-
sulted in Susan Peters' paralysis from the
waist down, won't even halt her career.
Susie. I am happy to report, has been
offered a radio contract, and as soon as she is
well enough, she could be wheeled into the
broadcasts. She has a wonderful speaking
voice, and she is such a fine little actress.
As you know, one of the most popular
singers on the air is confined to a wheel chair,
but she has risen to fame and fortune in spite
of her affliction.
Everybody is pulling so hard for Susan. If
love and good wishes can help her, she will
be carrying on again very soon.
* * *
Whoops! What a fracas Maria Montez
pulled at a recent party when somebody com-
plimented Greer Garson because her hair
was "naturally" red.
Maria seemed to take it as a personal in-
sult for some particular reason and hit the
ceiling. "My hair is naturally red, too!" she
shrieked. "How dare anyone say otherwise."
No one had!
Sometimes I think Maria stirs up these tem-
pests just for the excitement of it. She and
Gene Tierney had another little explosion at
the same party later on over something
equally silly.
* * *
I've been writing about movies for over
thirty years (and admit it), but I've never
had anyone bowl me over with such a
knowledge of the old timers and old pictures
as Van Johnson displayed at Sally Wright's
dinner party.
Van, who is just 29 years old, was my
dinner partner, and someone started discus-
sing the fine old pictures Richard Barthel-
mess used to make. "I'd like to do some of
those old Barthelmess pictures," said Van.
"They were great. Particularly Tolable
David.' "
"Good heavens!" I gasped. "Do you remem-
ber that?"
"Sure," said Van, "wasn't it a great per-
formance Emest Torrence gave?"
That started it. From there on he started
kidding me about my memory. While I could
remember the stars of most of the pictures
he mentioned, he shamed me by remember-
ing the character actresses and actors and
many of the directors.
I've always said I'll still be going to movies
when they have to wheel me in to see them.
But I'm sure they must have started wheeling
Van in to see them when he was still in his
baby buggy!
Let you in on a little secret: His favorite
movie star of all time is Greta Garbo!
* * *
The raveroos around the 20th Century Fox
-lot about Jeanne Crain certainly have not
gone to her head. Everybody says that she
will be one of Hollywood's biggest stars after
"State Fair"— so I was interested in meeting
her again on the set.
She's certainly a level-headed youngster. I
think she is the only starlet in town who fre-
quently takes a bus to the studio.
"But since that awful fright I had last year
when a dog jumped on me and bit me while
I was waiting for a bus, I'm not as crazy
about them as I used to be," she laughed.
She does her own marketing and pressing.
"I feel foolish having people wait on me
hand and foot. I'm able-bodied."
* * *
Everybody is talking about that Army news-
paper that ran a completely blank page with
the caption:
"BOYS, HERE IS WHAT YOU HAVE BEEN
WAITING FOR. A PICTURE OF LANA TTJR-
TURNER NUDE ON A SNOW PILE!"
* * *
For days, everyone was wondering what
was the matter with Betty Grable?
She refused to go anywhere, and she and
Harry James declined all invitations. Finally,
the story came out. She had received a kid-
napping threat, and so they stayed home
every night, guarded by two burly policemen.
There was never a threat to kidnap* the
baby, as first reported. Before the police
could arrest the would-be kidnapper, he
made his get-away, but he's known to the
police, and he had better not return.
* • •
MODERN SCREEN'S association with the
Naval Aid Auxiliary's plan to sell stars' auto-
graphs has proved one thing beyond the
shadow of a doubt. Van Johnson is the boy
whose autograph the girls "all scream for!
There are others who are close runners-up
such as Frank Sinatra and Robert Walker.
The Naval Aid Auxiliary made close to
$8000 so far — and by the time this is pub-
lished, I have no doubt it will be much more.
You fans who want autographs, see page 18.
The dinner guests of Adrian and his pretty
wife, the former Janet Gaynor, were warned
that something was in store for them as soon
as they sat down to dinner.
Notes were at each place saying, "If you
are nervous, easily frightened or a coward —
DON'T REMAIN." Of course, everybody
stayed — some to regret it.
Immediately following dinner, in walked
a woman with a twelve foot python (snake
to you) curled around her neck. Well, Mrs.
Basil Rathbone, who loathes snakes, almost
fainted. Other guests turned pale, and only
Irene Dunne had the intestinal fortitude to
touch the snake. "But never again!"
The party was given in honor of Lady
Mendl, and Adrian thought that Elsie, who
adores anything out of the ordinary, would
get a great kick out of the "stunt." Heaven
knows the snake was tame enough. Seemed
to want to snuggle up to everybody!
I have been very pleased by the number
of letters I have received from those who
read GOOD NEWS in MODERN SCREEN tell-
ing me who and what they want to hear
about. I particularly want this column to be
what you readers want Please write me
often. I love to get letters — and they are by
far the best way for me to keep up with you.
Guess that's all for now. See you next issue.
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64
Your guy'll love the soft, slimming
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What wonderful shoulders you'll have
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■ Remember when a suit was strictly
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And remember when some people were
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Golly, how stuff has changed. Suits
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This one's for a bride: No time for
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Those are the symptoms, and gosh,
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Here's one for Frankie fans: You're
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65
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ing ware, a product of Corning
Research in Glass j_j
IF YOU HAVEN'T tried Pyrex ware here's
a good start. The Pyrex Deep Pie Dish
is swell for cooking and serving <*f±J,
individual pies, soup, cereals, cus- |IIV
tards, apple sauce. 8-oz. size, only I U
cute, and in spite of the malarkey you
take from the press and your families,
you're awfully beautiful people. Because
this is your very first grown-up spring, the
first spring with Guys in it— and because
we sort of like you, we found you a suit
from Kessler-Schwartz that has everything.
You'll love the hip-length box-jacket in
dusty pink piped with navy; the bracelet-
length sleeves; the wonderfully cut, go-
with-everything navy skirt. Youll love this
suit because it's so unmistakably new, so
unmistakably you. And— oh lovely!— it's
priced low enough to please your pop. The
white rayon crepe blouse looks (but isn't)
expensive with embroidery down the front
and on the sleeves. The sweet hat and bag
are ' make-it-yourself items, these being
of navy faille trimmed with pink buttons.
For a gal with a guy: They call you
madam in the stores, now. A couple of
cherubs call you "mom." But there's a GI
who calls you "baby," and he's coming
home! Hide those third-season numbers
you've been wearing. Get yourself a new
hair-do, some 51-gauge stockings and a
suit that will be almost worthy of that
first unearthly moment at the station. Our
vote goes to a stupendous black and white
checked tweed job from Janecraft that isn t
pictured on our pages. It has an exquisite
bolero jacket trimmed with black braid,
and a built-up skirt that does the neatest
things for a waistline. It's a dramatic suit,
slim and tapering and significant as an ex-
clamation point. It's the most expensive
one in our collection, but if you're in ) a
damn-the-torpedoes mood, in a nothing s-'
too-good mood— and aren't you?— this is it.
For a party girl: If you're a high-school
senior with a brace of beaux, a careerist
with office-door johnnies, a gadding little
matron, you can't live without this precious
suit. Ifs a Grace Junior of kitten's ear
blue wool crepe, and the lush fabric, the
flange, the fitted jacket all conspire to make
it as festive -as a gardenia in your hair.
It's a suit you can dress up or down with
your choice of Judy Bond blouses and
your choice of a hat. The wisp of head-
gear on our model is a pin-money Madcap
that comes in a dozen mouth-watering
color combinations.
There you have 'em, our five super suits.
When you've figured out which is for you
send us a note, and we'll give you all the
vital data. How much, where to buy,
other available colors, anything you want
to know. If you love 'em all' and cant de-
cide, give us your measurements and your
age, and we'll help you make up your mind.
Come on, drop your fashion problems
smack in our lap, and we'll get you ail
glamoured up for spring and stuff. Thats
a promise. Just leave us show you. This
is us: Fashion Editor, Modern Screen, 149
Madison Avenue, New York, 16, N. Y.
* * *
Here's how you can make that smart
hat and bag set pictured on page 64. Send
25c to Modern Screen Pattern Service,
Post Otfice Box 224, Station G, New York
19, N. Y. Comes in sizes from 10 through
20. Be sure to indicate your size and re-
quest pattern number 1729.
•PYREX" IS A REGISTERED TRADE-MARK OF CORN.NC CLASS WORKS. CORNING, N. Y.
MOVIE STUFF
Who you kiddin'? Promising you'll
shell out "next time?" Looky, pal, if
you could manage to dig up the
sheckels to take in that extra movie,
you can manage to give out with its
equivalent for the Red Cross War
Fund. So when the ushers in your
local movie theater start passing
among you for your contribution to
the War Fund during the week of
March 15-March 21, give— it's one of
the most painless ways we have to
keep help coming and misery going.
I jf life. Which includes Mayo
A no Till P ^te °f ^e battles and general
ARStNl eart belongs to daddy, and her
(ContHiffers, too. I've seen his eyes fill
3 of Mayo. She's no girl to be
irough a woff lightly. It's a little pathetic
'ited each ot*m insist he wants her to be hap-
ias love — for f's no object — let her go to New
S»th free, they'lothes, find a play, start fresh —
e linen and er anything but love. Point out
With Steve, fst is ashes, and his answer's
is career carrm't give what I haven't got."
| >ry goes. Wh 1 of that statement is Mayo's
izzed with urn
e, 1 didn't di-aft got the same kind of jolt,
i ibitious boy, other who took too much for
f push his wa?pected his girl to stick for-
e last thing "<l and plucky, Betty stuck for
tor. Discharg. waiting till George could ma-
, ing he did >vorce. Harry James had nothing
ham! went t the break when it came — she
: ould have ron met him — she was fed up.
Be that as i reeled under the wallop —
. mplete, to ^alk of anything else — cried on my
ere were-r> "Why couldn't she wait?"
I leryl's rjn i y°u think she waited long
kurt. ^ugh?"
. th T>As for Mrs. Harry James, she's the hap-
1 3th«/iest girl I know — much too happy for re-
' irn(entment. George has his pride to keep
ina'^vY, sh«- They probably nod as they
for an ex though I'll bet George looks the
I For the pa? v if he sees her first.
. the Tutt/ Hooney fooled me. I thought he
{imething's 1 might re -marry. Lord knows
i use wher(re together enough, went dancing
>ama. She^alladium the night before he left
Now let's P- But in Birmingham, Mickey was
i d Garland a party, and there in the kitchen
hanna's rrweet Seventeen, cooking spaghetti,
s [hed, an£l in Hollywood had ever cooked
e all said a for Mickey. There was some-
i> neither *° fresh, so wholesome, so normal
iuple whoetty Jane and her background that
i d gave oi sick of the phony, fell with a thud.
Whereas J*Te married by the minister who'd
| mustn't ^ her— after he'd had a long talk
| th love, Rickey, to make sure that "my little
By, it be safe with you."
| ice. As a^Msband went overseas, the wife
I na — like th to visit his mother. I met her in
'm've probrG-M commissary — no startling
|e divorce out a sweetfaced child with curly
[tn not to r^r and the loveliest soft eyes. She
Sch awful that, a plain camel's hair coat and
, ow I didi16 make-up. Now she's gone home
fi red orting h£or the baby and, like millions of
| Then then her man to come back from this
1 ts hurt nubble war.
ird and C11 heard Ava say wistfully: "If I'd
I 've's dea as much about life then as I do
likes the »"ou can bet Mickey and I would
j* d George together."
i;an notHS been wrong about those two, I'm
lod natu>r,ePare(l to climb out on another
Side ma'1'™ always maintained, and main-
| raldn't i° this day, that Ham Nelson's the
■ tie in cman Bette Davis loved. Yes, there
I tie thelarny> 311(1 now there's Corporal Riley,
Ibbed ousti11. say that if she's ever to find
I g hermit's riness in this world, it will be
I "-a-laugh ?■
I laugh witP upstanding American gent—
1 nday's chi< why he walked out. He loved
I Paulette arP^, he's never re-married, but he
I ms. For stand playing super to a movie
fi out Charli'(,ae day you'll have to take orders
■ e's always', be once told her. And by gum!
1 them ths_m a broadcast he directed for
Iighs fro^d 6°t the most terrific boot out
|r. But Co°-
■ eat L<^tam Nelson's now doing a man-size
I Paulf°r General MacArthur— put up the
lauty radio station in the Philippines — had
|'atec^hance to come home, but turned it
I ns/'"m? "Not tul 1 broadcast from Tokyo,"
fc^tv f£ : Kids on leave from the South
|)k OorSx 3re forever showing up at the
Irs. Blargess. notes from Ham to Bette. She
■ ther 'once1 a big day — lunch in the Green
|^ivOotrv \ tour of the lot, a wonderful visit
You'll treasure your Speidel watchband more, as
time goes by: For these bands of beauty are made
with infinite pains and knowing touch, by the
same Speidel craftsmen who have made Speidel
famous for 8o years for jewelry of beauty, long
life' and distinction.
Watchband shown on man's wrist — Si 2.50
Women's Watchbands — $9.00 federal tax included
69
TAKE 2 MINUTES
NOW TO SEE
HOW MUCH YOU
KNOW ABOUT
MODERN C00KIN6!
/
FOOD COOKS V» FASTER
IN PYREX WARE BECAUSE:
;A) It supplies its own heat □
(B) It absorbs radiant oven heat □
' C) It's the "hottest" item in the cooking
utensil field □
fl
2
YOU SAVE STEPS AND WORK
WITH PYREX WARE BECAUSE:
(A) You bake, serve, and store in
same dish Q
(B) It's easy to carry □
(CJ It runs around by Itself Q
3
(A)
(B)
(C)
PYREX WARE IS EASIER TO
WASH BECAUSE:
It makes soap sudsier □
It's waterproof □
Sticky foods don't cling to its
smooth surface Q
ANSW&G &OX
OF COURSE you know the right ans-
wers but here they are anyway:
1 (B); 1 (A); 3 (C); 4 (C).
BY THE WAY, the baking dish above is
the Pyrex Double Duty Casserole...really
2 dishes in 1 : Bottom serves as
open baker. Cover makes pie H1|Y
plate. 3 sizes. Quart size, .only WW
PRESSED IN GLASS
4
LOOK FOR THIS TRADE-MARK WHEN
YOU BUY GLASS UTENSILS BECAUSE:
(A) It's so good-looking □
(B) It's easy to find □
(C) It's the mark of Pyrex ware, the
original heat-resistant glass cook-
ing ware, a product of Corning
Research in Glass \_j
IF YOU HAVEN'T tried Pyrex ware here's
a good start. The Pyrex Deep Pie Dish
is swell for cooking and serving AftJ,
individual pies, soup, cereals, cus- |||Y
tards, apple sauce. 8-oz. size, only I U
"PYREX" IS A REGISTERED TRADE-MARK OF CORNING CASS WORKS. CORNING. N. Y.
cute, and in spite of the frone mad over,
take from the press and Judson went to
you're awfully beautiful peop. door, they'd
this is your very first grown-up thoroughly
first spring with Guys in it — ainated — only
we sort of like you, we foundiomineering,
from Kessler-Schwartz that has opression of
You'll love the hip-length bo:Vic Mature,
dusty pink piped with navy; Vd never had.
length sleeves; the wonderfuiweep her off
with-everything navy skirt. Y<»irl who'd re-
suit because it's so unmistakon.
unmistakably you. And— obiigure in town
priced low enough to please yigart. I'm not
white rayon crepe blouse loolt Bogey's mad
expensive with embroidery dct a clear case,
and on the sleeves. The swee s in the towel
are make-it-yourself items, ,nd Mayo have
of navy faille trimmed with ; played it for
For a gal with a guy: Ti't laughing in-
madam in the stores, now.
cherubs call you "mom." But' happened to
who calls you "baby," and n met— some -
home! Hide those third-seasence, the Bo-
you've been wearing. Get yourjerry Geis-
hair-do, some 51-gauge stockingmciliation
suit that will be almost worthy ^ Bogey
first unearthly moment at the station. The
vote goes to a stupendous black and wi
checked tweed job from Janecraft that' is she
pictured on our pages. It has an exquis So,
bolero jacket trimmed with b. not >nTee-
and a built-up skirt that does ian salvage
things for a waistline. It's a dra
slim and tapering and significant ■
clamation point. . It's the most
one in our collection, but if yc'E
damn-the-torpedoes mood, in a J-
too-good mood — and aren't you?-
For a party girl: If you're a hiTeunifer
senior with a brace of beaux, amtaine
with office-door johnnies, a gaddi times,
matron, you can't live without thith.es or
suit. It's a Grace Junior of kitvateuer
blue wool crepe, and the lush £> some-
flange, the fitted jacket all conspirmorous,
it as festive 'as a gardenia in ^.e more
It's a suit you can dress up or dlo take
your choice of Judy Bond blou leave
your choice of a hat. The wisp o.cause
gear on our model is a pin-monfej you'll
that comes in a dozen moufe Brooks,
color combinations. /, Mrs.
There you have 'em, our jive Sj others,
When you've figured out which assigned
send us a note, and we'll give lAides.
vital data. How much, wherejen and
other available colors, anythingxe wives
to know. If you love 'em all' aw Arnold,
cide, give us your measurements^cal de-
age, and we'll help you make up y Buster
Come on, drop your fashion r pre-
smack in our lap, and we'll get assis-
glamoured up for spring and stuj Naval
a promise. Just leave us show V\ Lana
is us: Fashion Editor, Modern Sci> Betty
Madison Avenue, New York, 16, lienny
* * * harlie
Here's how you can make tha\e 206
hat and bag set pictured on page fyrned
25c to Modern Screen Pattern
Post Office Box 224, Station Grurner or
19, N. Y. Comes in sizes from, To oe_
20. Be sure to indicate your sijd baTMj_
quest pattern number 1729. ,y as you
still be a
MOVIE STUFF Because
Who you kiddin'? Promisi™8"™
shell out "next time?" Look^;^^
you could manage to dig i and
sheckels to take in that extra i and
you can manage to give out wit^.
equivalent for the Red Cross ng^
Fund. So when the ushers in y..ne
local movie theater start pass* gs
among you for your contributiori,,,^ _
the War Fund during the -
March 15-March 21, give—i1stm ^eed
the most painless ways w
keep help coming and mise *
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what's left of life. Which includes Mayo
out. But in spite of the battles and general
hell, her l.'eart belongs to daddy, and her
agony's great.
Bogey suffers, too. I've seen his eyes fill
up talking of Mayo. She's no girl to be
brushed off lightly. It's a little pathetic
to hear him insist he wants her to be hap-
py— money's no object — let her go to New
York, buy clothes, find a play, start fresh —
he'll give her anything but love. Point out
that the rest is ashes, and his answer's
ready. "I can't give what I haven't got."
The truth of that statement is Mayo's
tragedy.
George Raft got the same kind of jolt.
He was another who took too much for
granted — expected his girl to stick for-
ever. Loyal and plucky, Betty stuck for
three years, waiting till George could ma-
neuver a divorce. Harry James had nothing
to do with the break when it came — she
hadn't even met him — she was fed up.
George reeled under the wallop —
couldn't talk of anything else — cried on my
shoulder, "Why couldn't she wait?"
"Don't you think she waited long
enough?"
As for Mrs. Harry James, she's the hap-
piest girl I know — much too happy for re-
sentment. George has his pride to keep
him warm. They probably nod as they
pass by, though I'll bet George looks the
other way if he sees her first.
Mickey Rooney fooled me. I thought he
and Ava might re-marry. Lord knows
they were together enough, went dancing
at the Palladium the night before he left
for camp. But in Birmingham, Mickey was
asked to a party, and there in the kitchen
stood Sweet Seventeen, cooking spaghetti.
No girl in Hollywood had ever cooked
spaghetti for Mickey. There was some-
thing so fresh, so wholesome, so normal
about Betty Jane and her background that
Mickey, sick of the phony, fell with a thud.
They were married by the minister who'd
baptized her— after he'd had a long talk
with Mickey, to make sure that "my little
girl will be safe with you."
The husband went overseas, the wife
came out to visit his mother. I met her in
the M-G-M commissary — no startling
beauty, but a sweetfaced child with curly
brown hair and the loveliest soft eyes. She
wore no hat, a plain camel's hair coat and
very little make-up. Now she's gone home
to wait for the baby and, like millions of
girls, for her man to come back from this
interminable war.
Once I heard Ava say wistfully: "If I'd
known as much about life then as I do
now, you can bet Mickey and I would
still be together."
Having been wrong about those two, I'm
now prepared to climb out on another
limb. I've always maintained, and main-
tain to this day, that Ham Nelson's the
only man Bette Davis loved. Yes, there
was Farny, and now there's Corporal Riley,
but I still say that if she's ever to find
real happiness in this world, it will be
with Ham.
He's an upstanding American gent—
which is why he walked out. He loved
Bette deeply, he's never re-married, but he
couldn't stand playing super to a movie
star. "Some day you'll have to take orders
from me," he once told her. And by gum!
she did — in a broadcast he directed for
OWI— and got the most terrific boot out
of it, too.
Captain Nelson's now doing a man-size
job for General MacArthur— put up the
first radio station in the Philippines — had
a chance to come home, but turned it
down. "Not till I broadcast from Tokyo,"
he said. Kids on leave from the South
Pacific are forever showing up at the
studio with notes from Ham to Bette. She
gives them a big day— lunch in the Green
Room, a tour of the lot, a wonderful visit
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f
E
You'll treasure your Speidel watchband more, as
time goes by; For these bands of beauty are made
with infinite pains and knowing touch, by the
same Speidel craftsmen who have made Speidel
famous for 80 years for jewelry of beauty, long
life' and distinction.
Watchband shown on man's wrist — $12.50
Women's Warchbands — $9.00 federal tax included
on the set. • • ,
Corporal Riley could make a liar of me,
but the bet's still on. I say she'll wind up
Mrs. Ham Nelson— if she knows whats
good for her. ,
Which brings us to the man most de-
pendent on his ex-wife, and the girl most
tenderly concerned about her rib-tickling
ex-husband. , ,
The man's Private Red Skelton, whos
dooding fine. While in basic training at
Camp Roberts, he- gave so many camp and
hospital shows that he dropped twenty
pounds and had to study at night with a
flashlight under the blankets. Now hes in
special training, and all indications point
to an overseas chore. So Edna spent hours
of backbreaking and heartbreaking toil to
produce what's probably the only portable
gag file in captivity— a matter of 180,000
routines. , ,
That's a labor of love m any mans lan-
guage. Edna's still Red's manager, looks
after all his affairs. Professionally, he cant
get along without her. Nobody under-
stands his work as she does. Profession-
ally, he's her job. But portable files and
flying back East to see him over the holi-
days are above and beyond the call of
duty. Romance is gone. Red's engaged to
Georgia Davis, and I hear from my gossip-
carrier pigeon that Edna's pretty well oc-
cupied with Frank Borzage. Just the same,
I can tell you, there's a warm, steady
affection between these two that nothing
can touch. ' . , . ,.
Strictly speaking, Louis Hayward isnt
Ida Lupino's ex-husband. No divorce
action's been taken. Their marriage was
headed for the rocks before he entered the
Marine corps, but Ida wanted to give it
another chance. , . ,
Louis'd always suffered with asthma.
Under war conditions in the South Pacific
he grew worse and was slated to be
shipped home before Tarawa. Head of a
photographic unit, he didn't want to go
home. "Let me go in and make my pic-
tures," he begged, "and take the film back
with me." He got back, a very sick boy.
Only by packing him with adrenalin, could
they keep him breathing. .
Ida hovered over him like a broody hen,
administered the hypos herself till he had
to be taken to the naval hospital at Corona.
When he got his Naval survey— the
equivalent of an Army medical discharge—
they talked things over and agreed to call
it a day. "But I want the right to keep
worrying about you," said Ida. So dont
let's divorce till you want to marry
again—"
"Or till you do—
"That won't be for a long, long time,
if ever." „ , ,
But the gal I adore is Joan Crawford,
who doesn't know from subtleties. Give
Joan black and white— none of your
mealymouthed grays, none of that old
stuff about liking the man youve di-
vorced— T , „
On the set one day, "The Phantom Lady
came up. Everyone skirted the name of
Tone, till Joan reached out and dragged it
down by the forelock. "And Franchot!
she yipped. "Wasn't he wonderful? You
could smell the ham clear to the back of
the house!" „ ... «.„
There was also that interview, lne
writer spoke of the success of Joan's cur-
rent marriage. La Belle drew herself up.
"I think it's vulgar," quoth she to refer
to this marriage. As though I d been mar-
ried before!"
The writer's eyes popped.
"My dear child," Crawford pointed out
kindly, "we simply ignore any other mar-
" Bravo, Joanie! Spoken like the last great
queen of the Hollvwoods.
Tjpuf
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JUNE ALLYSOK
(Continued from page 32)
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"No. But if I were sure I could learn to
be good, I'd be sure—"
The upshot was that she went back to
finish high school. Mother's heart was set
on it, and June didn't mind. In fact, she
was sort of glad to go. She'd still be only
sixteen at graduation. Meantime, she could
make-up her mind —
head vs. heart . . .
That's what she told herself. But her
mind must have been made up from the
start. Because one day she brought her
beribboned diploma home, and next morn-
ing she was trying out for "Very Warm
for May." , '
Dick Rodgers was there. It wasnt his
show, but neither was "Sing Out the News,
and he'd been there, too. He remembered
June. She seemed to amuse him.
"Still sing without music?"
"Yes, I do—"
"Whafllitbe?" • o>„
" 'Axe You Having Any Fun?*
"That's what you sang the last time—
"Yes, I know—"
Golly, what a dope!— Yes, I- know. Yes,
I do.— Why couldn't she talk snappy, like
the other girls—? ,
She finished her song. "Better take her,
Rodgers said to Bob Alton, the dance di-
rector. "Else she'll sing it again next time,
and I couldn't stand that—"
Her dancing hadn't improved percep-
tibly, but they liked her voice, so they
gave her a line here and there. When she
started rehearsing with the principals, she
met Tommy. Tommy sang in the show.
He was wearing a porkpie hat that looked
cute and silly on top of his dark, lean face.
His face was wonderful— it was so alive,
she couldn't keep her eyes off it. Till she
found him looking back, and blushed like
an idiot — .
After rehearsal, he came straight over.
His pal was taking one of the girls out
to dinner. Would June go along and make
it a foursome? ■ .
"Who, me?" The words slipped out-
she just couldn't help it. All through high
school without a single date, and here was
the nicest boy in the show asking her to
dinner. . ,
Tommy howled. "None other, he said,
and that's how it started. J
Having a boy friend was wonderful
enough. Having him turn out as perfect
Tommy made your head spin. She
iixnij j * ,
have known it was too good to
as
might
One of the other boys told her. He
said he was a spokesman. "Look, June,
we went into a huddle on this thing. We
don't want to step out of line, but you re
pretty young and you haven't been around
much. Do you know about Tommy? Do
you know he's got a wife and kids—?
Inside, she keeled over. But somehow,
she managed to look him straight in the
eyes and keep her voice steady. "Of course
I know. That's all he talks about. Thats
why we're friends, because I like
listen — " . .
He gave her a funny look. ^Jh well, it s
all right then—"
But she couldn't face Tommy— hid ou
till rehearsal started, ignored his signals
kept her eyes turned the other way, dashed
for the dressing room the minute they
broke. He finally caught up with her—
"What's wrong?" , „
She'd meant to be haughty and dignified.
Instead, she blazed. !'Aren't you ashamed;
of yourself, taking girls out and youi*
poor wife probably working herself to
bone—"
"What bone? What wife?"
"Oh, don't worry, I protected you I told
them I knew all about her — "
"Are you kidding?" Then light began to
glimmer. To June's amazement, he grinned.
"There's an honored stage institution,
known as The Rib. They pulled a fast one
on you — "
"You mean it's not true? Oh Tommy,"
she blubbered, "and I walked right in."
"Chalk it up to experience, honey. Now
let's go eat—"
The show ran for six months, arid
Tommy was June's guardian angel. He
approved and encouraged her ambition. He
was kind, and understanding, and he knew
the ropes. He was also firm.
He showed her how much better girls
looked in simple clothes and subtle make-
up. She was shy as a deer. He bolstered
her self-confidence. "People won't bite.
You've got a . good head. Don't be afraid
to say what you think." He laid down
rules for success. "They'll tell you you've
got to know the right people. That's
the bunk. Talent and hard work'll turn
the trick, and you've got the talent." June
hated the taste of liquor, but even if she
hadn't, Tommy's views on the subject
would have scared her off. "Poison," he
maintained, "is quicker and more pain-
less— "
Most important of all, he found a man
in the show who was a marvelous dancing
teacher. June practiced with him every
morning.
wine, woman and song ...
Of course they were in love — or thought
they were, which amounted to the same
thing. In a little Italian restaurant, all
breadsticks and atmosphere, he gave her a
ring. "Now it's official," he said, and or-
dered red wine. Wine was all right, within
limits. They clinked glasses, and drank
"To Us," and laughed at Tommy, rolling
spaghetti with his left hand, because his
right refused to let go of June's.
"Higher and Higher" was a Rodgers and
Hart show. Tommy wasn't in that one,
but he egged June on to ask Dick Rodgers
if she could understudy Billie Worth, the
second lead —
"I dance better now, Mr. Rodgers. I've
been taking lessons — "
He grinned down at her. She still
amused him. "You have? Well, let's wait
till after the opening and we'll see — "
They were opening in New Haven. You
never had understudy rehearsal till the
show'd been running a couple of weeks
in New York. But June got busy learning
the songs and trying to master the in-
tricate dance routines.
"That redhead'll probably get it," she
told Tommy. "She's had much more
experience — "
"Never mind who gets it, you learn it — "
"Yes sir," she said, dropping her voice
an octave to indicate humor. (She still
does it).
Dress rehearsal in New Haven. No Billie
Worth. Stage manager, wild-eyed, raps
for quiet. "Billie Worth's sick. Can't go on
tomorrow. Who knows the songs?"
"I do." That's Redhead.
"Me, too." The small voice is June's.
Two hearts thump in jazz time, while the
boys go into a huddle. It comes up Red-
head. They rehearse her till 4 A.M., then
another huddle, weary and dispirited.
"The voice isn't big enough, but shell
have to do — "
"Why not try the other kid?
June sings and they perk up. She takes
one of the dance routines with Lee Dixon.
He and Billie had worked on the bedroom
dance for weeks — you couldn't learn it
properly in less, but you could fake it.
At eight, they call a halt — . The consensus
(Continued on page 74)
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FACE
TO FACE
Our gal's +ace-to-face ideal, Jenny Jones.
■ You're face to face with Hollywood glamour when
you look in the mirror! You, too, are pretty.! Now,
now, it's not that your old friend, Beauty Ed Carol
Carter, is trying to flatter you. Just that with the
proper use of creams and powder, you can uncover
hidden beauty. And Hollywoodites set a fine standard
for you. Not, I hasten to add, that a petite brunette
should try to mold herself into another Lauren Bacall.
Thing to do is to find the cinema girl nearest your
own type and use her as a model. Like the youngster
that magic make-up man Eddie Senz found to have
hidden charms equal to those of Jennifer Jones. He
recombed her hair, simplified her make-up and taught
her proper skin care.
You echo '"proper skin care'— I'd like to learn
about that!" And that exactly is what I'm going to
tell you about. You can't begin to be a beauty unless
your skin is glowing, healthy, lovely. Proper use of
beauty creams will help you out- here.
First off, let's scotch that silly superstition about
cream growing hair. Look, if it did, wouldn't Jack
Benny smear it on his head to stop all those jokes
about his baldness? It just isn't so.
Creams come in wide variety. Heading the list is
cold cream. Useful stuff, too, for it cleanses, lubricates
and protects the skin. You'll also find lined up on
beauty counters a wide array of general purpose
creams. They may vary a bit from the cold cream
type but have much the same uses. For cleaning only,
there are the so-called melting or liquefying cleansing
creams with a mineral oil base. To be good (and you
surely want it good!) a cleansing cream must have
two very definite qualities: It should
become liquid at body temperature;
and it should he light, so that it does
not destroy the elasticity of the skin.
It's a grimy world we live in, say
I, as my clattering typewriter raises a
cloud of dust. It takes vigilance to
!• eep to the cleanliness which is next
to loveliness. By vigilance, I most cer-
tainly do not mean lengthy routines.
Yours is a busy life. But you should
find time to clean face and throat fre-
quently: When you hop out of bed of
a morning, just before dinner and
again just before you lay your tousled
head on the pillow. The trick in cold
cream cleaning is to get every particle
of dirt and make-up thoroughly smoth-
ered with cream. Then when you wipe
it away, you'll be sure there's not a
trace of grime that has escaped.
Spread on a generous coating of
cream with quick upward strokes. (It's
divine stuff to dig your fingers into
and still more divine to put on your
face.) Your skin feels delightfully
cool — freshened already. Apply with
gentle strokes always upward from the
base of the throat; up and out from
the chin; caressingly around the eyes;
carefully down the sides of the nose
and over the chin where powder and
oil have a tendency to collect and black-
heads to form. Then work the cream
right up to the edge of your hair, where
dirt sometimes gets trapped and over-
looked. Spank it in briskly for at
least three minutes, to bring up circu-
lation, get your face tingling pleas-
antly. And remember not to stop at
the chin line. Continue right down
over the neck — as far in front and
back as your lowest dress neckline.
Now for tissuing off. The trick in
this is to use a clean piece of tissue
for each "wipe," to avoid all chance
of tracking dirt back on again. Take
two tissues, one in each hand, and work
up and out from the center of your
face, switching to a clean spot for each
swing. Slather on a second creaming
to insure that "twice-clean" look. Spank
it in and tissue off as before.
But you're not going to stop now!
That would be like dipping a soiled
blouse in snowy suds and pulling it
right out. A bit of rinsing is called
for. Here's {Continued on page 91)
The Counter 0 of Carnarvon
\ colorful and glamorous figure ot international society is tin*
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Results are dramatic! Your skin looks clearer, softer, even lighter!
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Make-up goes on like a happy dream !
"Foolproof poivder base! . . . Light, non-
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too. Spread on a thin film of Cream
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(Continued from page 71)
is that, heaven helping them, June'U get by.
"Our fate's in your feet," they tell her.
Standing numb in the wings that night,
she thinks: "If Tommy were here, if only
Tommy were here — "
Lee Dixon comes up. "Listen, kid. Do
anything that comes to you. Whatever
you do, I'll follow. If you get stuck, go sit
on the bed and I'll dance like mad. Then
I'll sit on the bed, and you dance like mad.
We'll make out—"
They did better than that, they stopped
the show. Again and again they were
called to the footlights and bowed and
bowed. The program said Billie Worth—
"But it's me." June kept telling herself.
"It's me and nobody knows it, I've got to
get to a phone — " ,
She called Mother first. Mother couldn t
believe it and then she cried, which made
everything cosy because June was crying
too. But Tommy was calm at tea.
knew all along you could do it."
Next night Billie came back, and June
returned to the chorus and nothing was
changed except inside herself. And when
the show closed and she went into "Panama
Hattie," first thing she did was march up
to Buddy De Sylva—
"Please may I understudy Betty Hut-
ton?" , , *
This quiet little thing? You don t seem
quite the type. But learn the songs, and
HI see—"
standout stand in . . .
She was back in five minutes. "I know
the songs. Oh, I knew them all along, only
I was scared to say so. Now I'm scared
someone else might get to you first—" ^
She made no attempt to ape Bettys
unique frenzies, sang the songs her own
way, and got the job —
Otherwise, things went on as usual. To
save the long trip home at night, she'd
moved to the American Women's Club,
and was sharing an apartment with two
other girls— one of them Betsy Blair* soon
to marry Gene Kelly. It was crowdedbut
fun, and it had one great advantage. They
were never broke at exactly the same
time. You always had someone to borrow
carfare from —
One night she'd gone out to dinner with
Tommy, and stopped at the Club for some-
thing or other. "Message for you, Miss
Allyson," called the clerk.
It said on the paper: "Miss Hutton has
measles and will not appear tonight. You 11
go on in her place — "
"Not me," croaked June, her face turn-
ing a delicate Nile green. She shoved the
paper at Tommy. "Put it in somebody else s
box. I never saw it — "
"Don't be silly, they'll catch you at the
theater—"
"Not if I'm somewhere, else, they won t.
Good-by, Tommy—"
He grabbed her, steered her to a taxi,
and delivered her in bad shape to the
stage manager. For services rendered,
they gave him a seat down front. Junes
only thought had been for her mother-
stage frightening . . .
"Call her up, Tommy. She's got a right
to be in at the death if she wants to—
For the rest, she moved as though under
the shadow of doom. This wasn't New
Haven, it was Broadway. She wouldn t be
anonymous here, they'd make an an-
nouncement. "We regret to inform you
that Miss Hutton is ill. June Allyson will
appear in her place." No one's regret was
more poignant than Miss Allyson's—
The manager stuck his head in. We
phoned the newspapers. There'll be critics
out front—"
Her lips parted. But all that came out
was a long, low moan.
The sequel will strike you as cockeyed
INFORMATION DESK
(Questions of the Month)
By Beverly Linet
Hi there:
I've been reminiscing! About
what? Well, 'bout the time chorus boy
Van Johnson used to hang 'round the
21 Club with the kids, and watch the
famous stars come out . . . and that
visit with Gregory Peck, when he told
me he was jinxed where acting was
concerned, as his plays had folded
three in a row . . and that last radio
show Vivien Leigh and Laurence
Olivier did night before leaving for
England to forsake their careers for
their country. I've some swell mem-
ories, and they're chock-full of info,
too. Wouldn't you. like to get in on
'em? Well — send a stamped, self-ad-
dressed envelope to Beverly Linet, In-
formation Desk, MODERN SCREEN,
149 Madison Avenue, N. ¥. 16, N. Y.
. . . and I'll dish out the dirt for the
as kin' On the double now!
Much luv,
Beverly
Donald Tonkin, Detroit, Mich.: IF I
WROTE LON McCALLlSTER AT
THE BOX NUMBER GIVEN A
FEW COLUMNS BACK, WOULD I
GET A PERSONAL ANSWER? . . .
Sorry. Don, that was a mistake, as the
box was discontinued. Lon personally
asked me to direct all mail to htm at
Fox, Beverly Hills, Calif., and he'll try
his darndest to take care of it.
Dolly Auegello, Everett, Mass.: WHO
WERE THE NAVIGATOR, BOM-
BARDIER, AND CO-PILOT IN "30
SECONDS OVER TOKYO"? . . .
Tim Murdock, Co-pilot; Don DeFore,
Navigator, and Gordon MacDonald,
Bombardier.
Helen Rosenberg, Brooklyn: WHO
WERE PINKY, ALAN AND BOB-
BY IN "WINGED VICTORY"? . . .
Don Taylor was "Pinky"; Mark Dan-
iels was "Alan," and Barry Nelson was
"Bobby." You can reach them and
every other player in that pic, at
Fox Studios, Beverly Hills, Calif.
or normal, depending on whether you've
ever been on the stage yourself. The min-
ute she came out, the minute she started
singing, every tremor vanished. She felt
fine and light and wonderful, completely
at ease and mistress of all she did. She
smiled down at Tommy — Tommy, the brave
one, white faced and shaking on the edge
of his seat. She hoped Mummy had come.
She loved the whole audience — my, what
a beautiful audience! — and the whole
beautiful audience loved her right back —
Now they were gone — all the wonderful
people who'd said such wonderful things.
She was alone — except for her singing
heart — in her dressing room. Tommy said
he'd walk Mother and Dad to the subway
station, while June changed. Golly, she
was glad Mummy'd been there to hear —
Somebody knocked. It couldn't be
Tommy back so soon —
"Just a minute, I'm not dressed. Who
is it?"
"George Abbott."
She snickered. That gag had whiskers.
"Don't annoy me, Mr. Abbott. I'm a very
important person now, Mr. Abbott. I
couldn't take a job in a mere Abbott show,
Mr. Abbott—"
She finished dressing. "Are you still
(Continued on page 79)
By Carol Carter, Beauty Editor
■ Now that your skin is lusciously smooth (after
following my words of wisdom on page 72). do
you find that you're suffering from face powder
blues? Maybe your puss looks as if it's been
dipped into a flour barrel or else it glows
brilliantly through your powder? Perhaps you're
moaning low because your hue is sometimes pale
V subdued or painted and riotous other times?
The solution is a matter of technique!
To see how bright you are, cherubs, I've hatched
a true-false quiz for you. Some of the statements
listed below are jewels of beauty; others need a
bit of alteration. The answers are in the paragraphs
beneath the quiz.
1. It's easy to decide which form of wonderful
powder base is for you. T F
2. A dab of filmy powder and the job is done!
T. . F ...
3. Even if a gal isn't blessed with Lamarr's
features, she can perform magic with powder.
T. F.
4. When shopping for the most flattering shade of
powder at the beauty counter, drape a blindfold
'round your eyes and reach. T F
5. Puffs deserve good treatment . . . Wash 'em,
change 'em often. T F
1. TRUE. Powder bases come in three forms:
cake, cream and liquid. All do a super job of keep-
ing your powder looking fresh for hours. Bases
spread a light film over your face, beautifully con-
cealing blemishes. Your skin type makes it easy to
pick your base. Cream or liquid for dry; pan-cake
for normal and oily skin.
2. FALSE. Powder, {Continued on page 121)
Universal's Martha O'Driscoll knows
_ how important powder is to beauty and
that's why she uses care to apply it.
Here's some enlightening news about face
powders ... all wrapped in a bright quiz
that gives valuable beauty hints to you.
76
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JUNE ALLYSON
(Continued from page 75)
there, Mr. Abbott—"
"I'm still here—"
She'd never seen George Abbott, but
the minute she laid eyes on the man
standing there, somehow she knew. "You
— you're not — really — "
"I really am. May I come in, Miss
Allyson?"
Tommy thought she'd gone cuckoo.
"And he said a hundred, and I said a
hundred? — not believing it, but he thought
it wasn't enough and he kept going up
till he said a hundred and seventy-five
and I grabbed it. Oh, Tommy, don't
talk to me suddenly. Don't talk at all.
Just hold me and let me be quiet for a
minute. A girl's got room for just so much
excitement. I can't take another drop."
There was more to come. The reviews
hailed "little June Allyson, who ought
to be a star in her own right." She played
the part for a week. M-G-M's Marvin
Schenk wired Arthur Freed about her.
Freed told him to sign her. But June
had a run-of-the-show contract for "Best
Foot Forward." After that, if they still
wanted her, she'd go.
two bugs in a rug . . .
The show was a hit, and so was June.
It ran for a year. June moved to her own
apartment in Tudor City. Tommy gave
her a blonde cocker spaniel, whom she
named Winsocki and loved as she loved
no dog since Teddy.
On account of Winsocki, she and Tom-
my stayed friends. Because one sad thing
happened that year. They discovered that
they weren't really in love. It kind of
crept up on them. For a long time, neither
was willing to admit it. As long as she
lived, June would never stop being grate-
ful to Tommy. But she was a young wo-
man now, and the time comes when you've
got to make your own decisions, even when
your best friend doesn't agree. Little fric-
tions arose. Arguments grew more fre-
quent, finally led to the night Tommy
took her home and they . stood at her
door, wretched and angry —
"Well, I guess it's goodbye — "
"If that's how you feel about it, Tom-
my-"
"There's just one thing I'd like. I'd like
you to give me Winsocki — "
Winsocki! He could have her house
and everything in it but Winsocki! Surely
he didn't mean — He did, though.
"All right," she said steadily. "I guess
we both love that little pooch more than
each other — "
Through the open door Winsocki came
bounding, leash in mouth. She picked
him up and handed him to Tommy, who
started down the hall. Over his shoulder,
Winsocki whimpered for June. She closed
the door to shut out the sound.
Then Tommy knocked. "He wants to
stay with you, June. Look, I've been act-
ing like a darn fool kid. Any reason we
can't be friends, the three of us?"
Mother and Tommy put her on the
train for California. Mother tried not to
cry. June didn't even try. She loved New
York. She'd never traveled before. She
was leaving Mother.
Four times she got off the train, and
Tommy put her back on.
"I know girls who went out and never
even made a picture — "
"You'll make a picture — "
She stood on the car platform, clutching
a red horse from Tommy, a panda, a
couple of balloons from her farewell party.
The last they saw of her was a tear-stained
face against the glass. An hour later two
women stood listening at the door of her
compartment —
"Come on, let's go in before she cries
herself sick."
She was lying face down, with the horse
and panda. They got her to sit up. One
bathed her eyes, the other patted her
hand. "Don't take on so, honey. My little
girl went away to school and she loved
it. Besides, the term's not so long. You'll
be home for Christmas — "
"No, I won't," she bawled. "I'm going
to Hollywood to be a star in the movies—"
They looked at each other. "And she's
crying yet," one of them murmured.
"Yes, the poor lamb. Just think, she
might have to kiss Clark Gable — "
That started her giggling. By the time
they were having dinner together, she
felt almost cheerful. She was almost look-
ing forward to Hollywood. There'd be
people to meet her — maybe flowers even
— maybe even a star. That's how Holly-
wood did things.
Nobody met her, much less a star. At
the end of two hours she'd have settled
for an office boy —
All right, she'd go home, guess she knew
when she wasn't wanted.
And use what for money?
Somewhere she'd heard of the Beverly-
Wilshire Hotel. Horse, panda and balloons,
she appeared at the desk, registered and
put in a call for New York. Never had
the sound of Tommy's voice been so dear
and familiar as from three thousand miles
away.
"I'm coming home. Nobody met me. But
I' only brought enough money for the
trip. Will you — ?"
"Why don't you call the studio?"
"I don't know the number — "
"Look, June, you're a big girl now. Don't
they have phone books in California?"
"Oh, Tommy, I just wanted to talk to
someone who likes me."
Solaced and refreshed, she then called
the studio. "I'm June Allyson," she an-
nounced brightly. "I'm here — "
"Yes?" said the girl.
"Well — I'm here — I'm supposed to be
here—"
"Whom did you wish to speak to?"
Who, whom? She was getting confused
again. "Whom speaks to you when you have
a contract?"
We'll spare you the rest. After telling
twelve people she was June Allyson, she
finally got switched over to Arthur Freed.
The whole thing had been her own fault
in the first place. She'd arrived four days
early without mentioning her change of
plan to the studio.
"You'll make a picture," Tommy had
said, and was right as usual. "Girl Crazy,"
"Meet the People," "Best Foot Forward."
People she'd known in New York were
on the lot. Through them and her work,
she met others. The minute she found an
apartment, she sent for Winsocki.
June thinks maybe she wasn't meant
to be happy with dogs. Winsocki came
scrambling out of the box and into her
arms. For one lovely evening they sat
by the fire together. Then the manager
said, "Sorry. No dogs, allowed."
losf angel . . .
A friend agreed to take him till June
could find another place. She saw him
every day, which was tough on them
both — he cried so when she left. At last
he took matters into his own paws, and
went out looking for her. He never came
back —
Of course, in the beginning, the whole
Yon can have
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idea had been to meet Fred Astaire. The
only way to do that was by learning to sing
and dance. Then some day, somewhere,
you'd float into his presence, all dreamy
and glamorous, and he'd go into a manly
swoon and say, "There's the girl I want
to dance with," and you'd do a big, fat
picture together —
It happened another way. Something
had gone wrong with June's car and
she'd tried to fix it. In slacks and an old
bandanna, all greasy and hot and dashing
for an appointment, she turned a corner
and bumped against two men —
"Hi!" said the one she knew. "Hold on
a minute. I'd like you to meet Fred
-/\. S 1 3. 1 11 0 "
"Howdyado," said Fred.
"Howdyado," said June, feeling sick.
That was all. They went their way and
she went hers. The lot hummed with its
normal activity. Nobody heard the crash
but June, as a castle in the air came
toppling in ruins around her.
"Oh golly!" she mourned. "At least I
could have been clean!"
June was always tearing. She tore out
of the commissary one noon and all but
knocked a man down. "I'm terribly
sorry — "
Unlike Fred Astaire, this one really
looked at her. "You're June Allyson,
aren't you? I'm going to have you in a
picture some day — "
"Wants to be a producer," she thought,
"like everyone else. Well, I wish him
luck—"
She did too — he had such a nice grin.
Every time she saw him after that she'd
smile and wave. A week or so later, he
passed her table in the commissary. The
place was jammed, he'd never find a seat.
"Why don't you sit here with me — ?"
"Thank you, I will."
"I've been meaning to tell you, ever
since I knocked you down, I hope you get
your wish — "
"What wish was that?"
"Don't you want to be a producer?"
He choked over his water. "Have some
bread," she said helpfully. "What do you
do now?"
"I make pictures — "
"Really? What kind?"
"This and that—"
"Well, you know my name but I . don't
know yours. Maybe I'd recognize it — "
"My name's Joe Pasternak."
She laid her fork down carefully and
dropped her forehead in her palm. "Just
a minute while I die — "
"Postpone it, will you? I need you in
'As Thousands Cheer'—"
In "Two Girls and a Sailor," he gave
her her first big break. Originally, she'd
been scheduled to play the younger sister.
Her reaction, when Joe told her about
the change, was characteristic —
pretty is as pretty does . . .
There's a line in the script addressed
to Patsy: "Is your sister as pretty as you
are?" And Patsy answers, "Much pret-
tier—"
June's convinced that she's not pretty.
Protestations to the contrary leave her
unmoved —
"Patsy'd say, 'Much prettier,' and then
I'd come out. Who'd believe it? Leave us
face it, Joe. Besides, I'm glad I'm not
pretty. People feel so sorry for you. They
say poor thing, she's got to have some-
thing, so give her the man — "
"Remind me some day to tell you I •
think you're swell — "
June glowed. "You do?"
That picture swung June and Gloria
into the limelight. For June, it was all
this and heaven, too. Because Fred Astaire
stopped her one day and said, "I saw
'Two Girls and A Sailor.' Thought you
were wonderful — "
All night her sleep was haunted. She
was a child, sitting in a movie house,
wrapped by the magic of a dancing dream.
And the dream came down off the screen
and straight up to her — who'd worn &
brace for five years and never danced
a step. "Thought you were wonderful,"
he said, "you were wonderful, wonderful,
wonderful — "
love from an audience . . .
"Music for Millions" was another land-
mark. Singing and dancing, you can go
just so far. As an actress, you can go
way beyond that. Pasternak had recog-
nized in June something deeper than
prettiness — honesty and warmth and ten-
derness of feeling, combined with acting
talent. He'd tested those qualities in "Two
Girls and A Sailor." In "Music for Millions,"
he gave them full scope.
The biggest thrill of June's screen career
came the night of the preview — the first
of her own previews she'd attended, hav-
ing been too scared to go to the others.
Not that she wasn't scared this time. It
was like a rollercoaster — you want to ride
it and you don't— finally you grit your
teeth, ball your fists, close your eyes and
climb on —
She went with Jimmy Durant, an
M-G-M cutter. They sat in the balcony,
and her teeth didn't ungrit till halfway
through the picture. After all, you can't
be an utter dope. When people laugh and
cry and keep their eyes glued to the screen,
you have to admit they probably like it—
But she wasn't prepared for what fol-
lowed, as she and Jimmy started down
the staircase toward the main floor. A
spatter of applause — faces turning toward
her, smiling all round her, smiling up
from below, applause swelling louder and
louder — For a second she faltered, but
the crowd broke to let her through, and
she went on down — thunder in her ears,
wonder in her eyes, and in her heart a
wild prayer that her buckling knees
wouldn't fold up under her —
Lillian Burns is the coach at M-G-M.
Her secretary called June in the morning—
"Seen the reviews yet?"
"No, I haven't—"
"Wait, I'll read you one—"
Raves about the picture. About Mar-
garet O'Brien and Jimmy Durante. ' And
most of all, June Allyson ...
She got up and wandered round the
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A while ago Bob (who's the string bean
type and fretty about gaining weight) was
wasting away to the tune of a precious
half-pound every now and then. He hot-
footed it to his favorite medic, and there
was nothing the doc could find more
serious than an incipient hangnail.
"Hum," hummed the physician. "What
do you do around the studio?"
"Why, I act," answered Bob.
"Does acting upset you?" Bob said no;
on the contrary, he liked it. Acting never
bothers an actor, he explained, only the
ghastly results, like those terrible rushes
he sees every day.
"Ah!" cried the doctor, "What are
rushes?" Bob explained that they were the
printed scene you'd made. The heartless
critics told you whether you were good
or you — er — smelled. They were the jury's
verdict. They made him sweat.
"Avoid rushes from now on," decreed
the wise man.
Bob has ever since. He's gained five
pounds, practically fat for him.
Idle Hollywood gossips with nothing
better to do than louse around the Selznick
sets when Bob and his wife, Jennifer
Jones, were knocking off those sweet young
love scenes in "Since You Went Away,"
thought surely there must be a great sob
story and torch epic behind the scenes as
they watched Bob and Jennifer— estranged
and separated domestically — give with all
the tender emotions before the camera.
Bob Walker didn't get it. Neither did
Jennifer. "Why it's just acting," Bob ex-
plained. "Hasn't got a thing to do with us
personally." He went right on to inform
the baffled observers that he thought Jenny
Jones was one terrific actress and that, in-
cidentally, she thought he was pretty fair
himself. In fact one of their pet ambitions
is to do a play together on Broadway.
perpetual adolescent . . .
What still baffles Bob about Hollywood
and the movies is the fact that people take
him for exactly what he plays on the
screen. And since he's done practically
nothing from "Bataan" on out but act cal-
low youths in uniform, he's a fugitive from
a bobby-sock.
Bob gets letters from 12-year-old girls
asking his advice about their junior high-
school problems. People are always meet-
ing him and gasping, "Why I had no idea
you were so grown up!" After his youngest
part of all, the teen-age soldier in "Since
You Went Away" (Bob was supposed to be
seventeen in that one, and since he got
away with that, he thinks it was his best
acting feat to date) a GI wrote Bob a note
saying, "Well, Bob, I guess you'll be almost
old enough soon to be a real soldier!"
Even Bob's boys, Bobby, 5, and Michael,
4, take their dad's picture parts completely
straight. Bob's parents-in-law took the
two young hopefuls to see "Private Har-
grove," and the next time Bob saw the kids
they checked right up on him. "I said
hello to you and you didn't say hello back
to me," complained Bobby. "You got on
the train and went to New York, didn't
you?" asked Mike. "Did you have a good
time?" and "Didn't you get a cold when
you fell in the water?" It's that way with
all Bob's actor friends, too. They know
Van Johnson, and when they saw 30
Seconds Over Tokyo," they were very
deeply depressed. "Now Van has only one
leg left," wailed Bobby.
robber's roost . . .
Most every Sunday Bob drops by Jenni-
fer's Bel-Air house, picks up the kids and
drives them off on a Sunday fun tour.
They take in the sidewalk carnival, out
near Beverly Hills, sometimes the zoo in
Griffith Park, or they just stroll around the
streets of Beverly or Hollywood. Hun-
dreds of citizens who have watched. Robert
Walker intimately on the screen, pass the
tall, young pater familias in his plain busi-
ness suit, sedate behind tortoise shell
glasses, calmly ushering his offspring along
in an experienced paternal way. They
must think he's just another downtown
broker or insurance man on his day off.
Because he has never been recognized to
this day.
That's the way Bob likes it. For a fellow
who's as wrapped up in his art as Bob
Walker is he's about as Barrymorish as a
bottle of milk. The guy's as normal as 98.6.
The only dramatic event I could dig out
of his young life since he came to Holly-
wood (outside of breaking up with his wife
Jennifer) was The Great Christmas Eve
Theft, or Farewell, My Wardrobe.
Bob is baching more or less, these days
high up in Mandeville Canyon in a fair-
sized furnished house. Well, the night be-
fore Christmas and all through Bob's house
someihing was stirring, and it was defi-
nitely no mouse. Because when Bob came
home from Jennifer's where he'd been
trimming the tree, he saw a couple of his
best Brooks Bros, shirts spread out on the
front lawn, boxes with fancy Christmas
wrapping scattered here and there, and
the front door open.
When he hustled inside the house, he
spied the chair seats topsy turvy, the draw-
ers inside out and the rugs draped over the
chandelier. "Ha, ha, a gag," thought Bob
until he noticed that the place was as bare
as a cigarette shelf in a cut-rate drug store.
He wuz robbed — and how!
Bob has taken to dating things back to
the Great Theft. It's a mile post in his life,
because he's had to start all over, person-
ally speaking, since it happened. He was
wearing a pair of blue slacks, a blue sports
coat, white shirt and blue tie when he
came home, and he wore the same all
through the Christmas Holidays and even
New Year's Eve. It was all he had.
Tougher still was explaining to Bobby
and Michael how Santa Claus got hi-
jacked. Because not only every present
Bob had received, but every gift he had
bought, went with the loot. But the
unkindest cut of all came from his very
own studio. Bob was making "The Prin-
cess and the Bellhop" at M-G-M, and when
he reported his cleanout, they seized on
the vital item right away. "The burglar
didn't take that brown tweed suit of yours,
did he?"
gone with the wind . . .
"Why, sure," allowed Bob. . .
A lot of scenes had been shot — but there
were added scenes still to be made. And
now — no suit to match. Gone with the
wind. "For gosh sakes!" raved the M-G-M
powers. "Why did you ever take that suit
home? Why didn't you leave it safely
here on the lot in our moth, burglar,
bullet and buzz-bomb proof vaults?"
So you see Fate can kick up its heels
and smite Master Robert Walker in the
face now and then. Although most of the
time, according to Bob, his private exis-
tence in Hollywood boasts all the thrills
of a carrot's progress through life. What
really sends Bob is his work. As long as
the studio keeps him busy, he'll settle for
a 10 o'clock bedtime and even burglars on
Christmas, if necessary.
You see, Bob has been all wrapped up
in this acting business ever since he was
old enough to know beef from bully.
He skipped college after San Diego Mili-
tary Academy and plopped right into New
York's American Academy of Dramatic
Art. That's where he met and married
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Jennifer, you know, and every bit of his
adult life has been spent with a script
of some sort in one hand and wistful
hopes on the horizon. He and "Phil" (as
he calls Jennifer) struggled through the
Greenwich Village school of hard knocks,
around the Cherry Lane Theater. When
the babies came along, Bob kept the
growing family in shoes and Pablum by
rushing from one soap opera to another in
Radio City. He and "Phil" tried Holly-
wood once before, but after a bit for Bob
in a stinker, and similar sad fates for^
Jennifer, they had to give it up like so
many other hopefuls.
annie oakleying to Hollywood . . .
Moreover, Bob considers he's in Holly-
wood on an Annie Oakley — a sort of free
pass this time. Because he wouldn't even
have come out if Jennifer hadn't captured
the prize part of "Bernadette." Even then
he thought at first he'd just mosey out,
dabble around in Hollywood radio and
look over the studios while Jennifer made
"The Song." But an agent talked him out
of the idea of crashing Hollywood on
"spec" and into taking a test for M-G-M.
When they shot him right into "Bataan,"
he could hardly believe it was true. In
fact, his enthusiasm almost got him into a
jam, but Bob Taylor saved the day.
The minute "Bataan" was finished,
Walker couldn't wait to see the results.
When he heard about the sneak preview,
he simply had to see it. Well, that's not
done by actors at M-G-M, especially
young, new actors. But Bob was so eager
that Tay Garnett, the director, and Robert
Taylor, the star, both were touched. "Come
over to the studio right away, and you can
go out in the car that takes us," they
offered. "It's against the rules, but what
the heck!"
Of course, Bob Walker promptly told
Jennifer, and she simply had to go, too.
With Jenny being star on another lot,
that would be high treason, Bob knew, if
discovered. So he hid her in the back seat
and bowled on up to M-G-M to get the
Word from Tay and Bob.
That's when they told him it would be
impossible for him to take his own car.
"Have to come with us in the studio car
or else," they explained. "As it is, we'll
probably get bawled out for taking you."
When Bob hung back they said, "What in
the world's the matter?"
"My wife's in the back seat!" he blurted.
Well, it all straightened out when good-
natured Bob Taylor came to the rescue
and wangled some studio strings to let the
Walker family see the sneak.
He thinks he's lucky to be kept as busy
as he's been. Because outside of a light
breather in "Madame Curie," they've kept
Hargrove humping. That was the only
time he had a chance to start a tan (he
takes a swell one despite his red hair).
The only real vacation he's had in two
years was between "The Clock" (his next
release) and "The Princess and the Bell-
hop" (which he's making now). Bob
spent that on a ranch near Tucson,
Arizona — but even then less as a vaca-
tion than a rest cure. He was under-
weight and feeling low, and he gained 10
pounds to melt off in his next picture. But
he hasn't been back to New York since he
arrived. He olanned a trip a while back
and was all set to go when somebody
handed him a script of "The Clock." That
did it. Bob got so worked up about doing
the picture he cancelled his reservations
and unpacked his bags. It's his favorite
picture so far. (Yep, he's a soldier again,
with 24 hours leave to spend with Judy
Garland.) But the point is — the reaction
was typically Walker— he'd rather work
than play any day in the week.
It's just that he's got a one-track mind.
Like he says, "I work and play in spurts."
For instance, there was a spell awhile back
when Bob and his sidekick, Peter Lawford,
got an attack of Mocambo-itis. Bob loves
to dance, rumbas and sambas like a
Copacabana siren and he got on such a run
of night-clubbing with Judy Garland or
Martha O'Driscoll or Diana Lynn that they
swept him out nightly at closing time with
the cigarette butts.
But when I saw Bob, he hadn't been out-
side the house at night for a month — not
even to a movie — and he loves movies.
That's the way he operates. Of course,
one good reason why he hugs the hearth
these days is that he has Harry. Bob's new
bachelor life drops into two definite
grooves — B.H. and A.H. Before Harry and
After Harry. Harry is his colored man's
man, and he's the difference between living
like a civilized single gentleman and like
a dismal lost soul.
The latter stage in Bob Walker's ex-
istence took place, sad to relate, right after
he and Jennifer had decided to have a
marital vacation. For awhile, Bob decided
to do his own housekeeping and cook his
own meals. But he found himself dining
every night on hamburgers. He was down
to a shadow of his former self when his
doctor put his foot down. "Either get a
cook," he declared, "or ulcers — make up
your mind."
That's when Harry stepped in and took
over. Now Bob comes home from work to
a cheery fire in the fireplace, a drink by
his chair and a good dinner on the table.
He only hope's it lasts, and since Harry was
ten years with his former boss, there's a
good chance. Particularly, too, since Harry
is travel minded and so is Bob.
man friday . . .
Harry runs Bob's Mandeville man's
castle without a hitch, and until the Great
Theft, took perfect care of the Walker
wardrobe. Bob's a conservative dresser,
with Wall Street tastes rather than the
more colorful Hollywood variety. He has
a weakness for socks and shirts, and in the
jewelry department only cuff links — he
owns neither a ring nor a watch, only a
St. Christopher medal which jangles on
his key ring.
When Harry says, "Mister Walker, you
can have guests tonight," (Yep, he tells
Bob) then there's usually one or several
of Bob Walker's pals in for dinner — Pete
Lawford, Van Johnson, Keenan Wynn or
somebody with their gals. In spite of his
night life "spurts," Bob really got broken
into the solid comforts of fun at home very
early in life, being hitched at nineteen, and
that's what he still prefers. He has a stack
of both swing and symphony records (his
favorite bands are Woody Herman and
Cab Calloway) and a second hand machine
he bought from his barber at M-G-M. Bob
knows his jive and his frustrated ambition
is to own a set of drums. There's plenty of
brandy in the cabinet, Bob's favorite tipple,
although he's very temperate with the
stuff. There are cards and chips. So the
evening usually ends up in a poker or
gin-rummy session, at which game, inci-
dentally, Bob's a sort of small-time shark;
although he's not really a gambling man
at heart.
Bob found that out down in Florida
when he was on location with "Thirty
Seconds Over Tokyo." A Florida hot spot
happened to be nearby, and one night Bob
got lucky to the tune of a $300 win at
blackjack. Next , night he went back and
tried the crap table — goodbye $300, and
another $300, too. That made him see the
light. Not that he's too scotch (although
he really is by ancestry) . In fact, at the end
of "The Clock" he handed out $500 worth
of gifts to the crew. At the same time Bob
can look after his interests.
He used to have a brace of motorcycles
that he roared around town on, but one
by
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day he skidded on a curve and knocked
himself out colder than a pickle. Word
came down from Bob's studio right away —
"No more motorcycles."
"Okay," said Bob, "but what about my
investment in these machines?"
"We'll buy 'em," countered the studio
very cagily.
"How much?" asked Bob.
"$600."
"No," said Bob.
Finally he got twice that— $1200. He
keeps a manager who puts him on one of
those strict Hollywood budgets that make
stars go around town acting hungry and
running out of dough in the strangest
places. The only time that happened to
Bob was the night he took Judy Gar-
land to Mocambo, and found he had three
bucks cash in his wallet when that man
came around. Who paid? That's right
— Judy. But she got every penny of it
back, all right.
Bob drives a long, deep-breathing, beige
Lincoln Continental convertible now in-
stead of motorcycles, which is really more
his type anyway. He's not what you'd call
the rugged type physically. Bob's the kind
of guy who can play golf okay, swim okay,
play tennis okay and all that. But as
to violent exercise — romping around the
yard with his boxer dog, "Brook," and
keeping up with his two sons on the week-
ends keeps any surplus ounces off his
frame.
Actually, if you played truth and con-
sequence, what Bob Walker would rather
do than anything is sack down at home
right after dinner with a brand new script,
turn on the radio (he always studies
AUTOGRAPHS!
We got 'em, you get 'em. Star
signatures, we mean, and so
cheap! Scurry to page 16.
scripts with radio music right in his ear)
and figure out how he's going to make it
sound real next day on the set. That to
him is Heaven.
young fry . . .
As for the younger Walkers, it's a little
early to do any predicting. Both Bobby
and Michael look exactly like their curly-
headed pop, with light red-blond hair and
blue eyes and could be they're chips off
the old Walker block in more ways than
one.
Last winter Bob had them home for a
'visit with his parents in Ogden. Bob's a
good Mormon from Salt Lake, originally,
you know, but his folks live now in Ogden,
right down the line. It was the kids' first
look at a real Western winter with plenty
of thick snow and steep hills for bob-
sledding. _
Bob borrowed a sled and took them
coasting down a slick slope where a bunch
of kids were belly-whopping. Then Bobby,
aged 5, wanted to go down alone. ^
For some reason Bob said "Okay, and
off Bobby zipped with the rest of the kids,
while Bob watched with his heart in his
mouth.
But Bobby made the grade like a veteran
and quickly puffed back up to the top. His
old man was pardonably proud. "That was
swell, Bobby," he glowed. "Don't you want
to go down again?"
"Sure, Dad," said Bobby. "In a minute—
when the rest of the kids come up^ There's
nobody here to watch right now."
So at least, Junior has the right in-
stincts. An actor's always got to have an
audience.
ALICE IN MOTHERLAND
(Continued from page 34)
a pair of pretty hands — that she hasn't had
a professional manicure in heaven-knows-
when.
If you think Alice might be bored by
such a routine, you should examine more
closely the reason for her happiness in
just being a wife and mother. Baby Alice
is one cardinal reason, a young character
entirely out of this world. Friends who
telephone the Harris household hear a
piping voice over the wire saying, "Hello?
Baby Alice speaking." To this diminutive
secretary, callers convey their messages,
and Baby Alice delivers them faithfully.
to the manner born . . .
In the morning, she likes to have break-
fast in bed. Upon awakening, she dons
bathrobe and slippers, rushes to the bath-
room to brush her teeth and splash her
round, dimpled face, then returns to her
bed. To the maid or to her mother she
says, after rapt deliberation, "This morn-
ing I will have scrambled eggs, tomato
juice and one slice of raisin toast, please."
Or she will murmur, "Today I think I
would like oatmeal, grapefruit and an
English muffin."
One morning, after the Harris family had
entertained guests the night before, and
Baby Alice had been allowed to listen to
the adult conversation for thirty minutes
before being tucked into bed, she said,
"This morning I'll have chicken Romanoff,
green salad with roquefort dressing, and
cherries jubilee." She managed to keep
her face solemn while delivering this epic,
but her eyes glinted with glee.
Alice, Sr , took the order in stride. "I'm
sorry, madame, but we are out of chicken,
the lettuce is wilted, and our jubilee-mixer
is out of order. May we serve you some-
thing else?"
Baby Alice pursed her lips, sighed and
said, Well, she was disappointed, but she
supposed she would have to have Wheaties,
sliced bananas and milk for breakfast.
Sometimes she asks for extra thick cream
on her cereal, a reality because the Harris'
plantation keeps a cow, name of Daisy
Mae, who supplies such luxuries.
Not only does this Junior Miss have a
clear conception of food preferences, but
she also knows what she likes to wear.
On one of Senior's infrequent trips to
Beverly Hills, she took Junior along.
Senior, upon passing a leather goods store,
caught sight of a midget pair of handmade
cowboy boots. "Cute, aren't they?" she
asked her daughter.
The daughter was making a button nose
against the glass. "Oh, Mommy!" she
drooled.
So the blue-eyed, blonde-headed pair
of Alices entered the shop and asked about
having a pair 6i boots made for Junior. The
leather expert explained that he couldn't
duplicate the boots, and that they were
actually just window decorations, but he
allowed Junior to try them on. They were
a trifle large, but Junior's expression — as
she strode around with plainsman's thump-
ing— was idyllic.
It was too much for the shopkeeper.
"You may have the boots," he said. When
Alice tried to pay him, he demurred. "The
sight of that child's delight was the finest
payment a man could ask," he insisted.
Thus began the Prairie Period in the life
of Baby Alice. The first thing she donned
in the morning was her cowboy gear, and
the last thing of which she divested her-
self at night was likewise. The sight of
Junior clumping around in nightgown,
bathrobe and boots was impressive. And,
Q. What brings a girl such kisses?
A.. Skin like satin— so smooth.
If only my skin weren't so dry!
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when she was invited to a neighborhood
birthday party, she allowed the nurse to
select her ruffled, lace-trimmed party
dress, but she was adamant about those
sissy patent leather slippers. She was
going to wear her cowboy boots or she
wasn't going to that party. Alice, hiding
a grin, nodded to the nurse. And young
Alice, proving something or other about
her fellow juveniles, was easily the belle
of the party.
During the year in which Alice, senior,
has been off the screen, not one of her
loyal fans appears to have forgotten her.
The fan mail continued to arrive by the
carload, and Alice continued to answer it.
Many of the letters requested pictures, so
Alice posed. While doing this portrait
sitting, the studio cameraman decided to
cooperate with the studio fashion depart-
ment and secure a series of fashion stills.
While Alice, Sr. was posing, the entranced
interest of Alice, Jr. inspired the studio
representatives to get a few Young Idea
shots. Baby Alice was inserted into a min-
ute bathing suit and bathrobe and, with
the poise of a veteran, she held the robe
in such a manner as to partly-reveal,
partly-conceal her suit. She also posed
in a number of street ensembles. Then,
bored by the whole thing, she told the
cameraman, "That's all. I'm tired," and
with the graciousness of a grand duchess,
she curtsied and swept out of the room.
point of pride . . .
Alice, Senior, a little bewildered, but
bursting with pride in her daughter, de-
cided to take Alice Junior on the personal
appearance tour scheduled for Phil. "But
where are we going?" demanded Junior.
Alice told her, "To Brooklyn." Junior
nodded emphatically, having overheard
AUTOGRAPHS!
Some splendid, some funny. All
for a quarter, which isn't much
money. See page 16.
recent
-where
book
that
dis-
tree
some of her mother's
cussions. "Of course-
grows," she said.
While packing her own luggage, Junior
rejected a dress that Alice had suggested.
"It won't do, Mommy," she explained pa-
tiently. "You know how awfully it
wrinkles."
When Alice, Sr. called at 20th Century-
Fox to complete arrangements for her
picture, scheduled to roll late in April,
someone asked her what she had done
with the past year of her life.
"Tried to keep up with Baby Alice, and
tried to give Phyllis as geod a start in life
as her energetic sister has," Alice laughed.
"When you see that pair, you'll realize
that I haven't had a spare moment."
And her reason for returning to the
screen? Junior's interest in the theatrical
profession. After having listened to her !
daddy broadcast, and having watched his
activity before his band, Junior borrower'
one of her mother's long knitting needle
and spent much time in front of the radio,
directing the music with great energy.
One day she approached her feminin
parent with a query. "Daddy make:
music. What can you do, Mommy?"
So Mommy is going to show her — o:
celluloid. Alice hopes from the bottom o:
her heart that her next role will b<
dramatic instead of musical. However,
critics agree that no matter in which cate
gory Alice, Sr. performs, her daughter
and her fans are due for a treat
m\
FACE TO FACE
(Continued from page 73)
where you reach for your skin freshener
or astringent to give the finishing touch
to your cleaning job. Pour some on a
pad that's been dampened with cold water.
Sponge face and throat. Every last trace
of cream disappears! Turn the pad, add a
little more skin freshener and concentrate
on any areas of excessive oiliness. This
extra stimulation tends to normalize the
pores of these areas. Now pat the entire
face and throat with the pad. So invigorat-
ing! This freshener workout is for your
complexion what setting-up exercises are
for the figger.
Now about that liquefying cream we
were speaking about. It's grand for an oily
puss. Melts gently at the touch of your
skin. Spreads with film-like lightness and
silken-smooth swiftness over your whole
face. Prime virtue: it does the kind of
refreshing, cleaning-up job that oily,
"coarse-pored" skin needs and it's not
loaded with any ingredients that might
clog a single large pore.
But your skin is desert dry? Then by
all means get yourself a lusciously rich
night cream. That doesn't mean that your
greasy face will skid on the pillow. Not at
all. Apply the cream; normal skin will
absorb all it can possibly use in twenty
minutes. Slither off the excess with a
convenient tissue . . . and sweet dreams!
For your waking moments all of you
should know about creams that do duty
under face powder. (To learn about "Pow-
der Perfection" be sure to check page 76.)
Whip on some vanishing cream, leave it
on for one full minute. When off, your
skin feels silky soft, all the little rough
bits of dry skin flecked away. Your face
now has a mat finish that makes the
perfect make-up base.
Too, there is foundation cream which
forms a film of protection against harsh
weather and conceals tiny skin imper-
fections. Acts to "anchor" rouge and pow-
der in a natural finish that's utterly en-
chanting. The filmy consistency spreads
smoothly beneath your finger tips. The
least bit creates the most flattering effect,
so apply it sparingly. Just dot the cream
on forehead, cheeks, chin and nose; then
blend it over the entire face. Faintly
flesh-colored, it blends with the natural
tones of your skin.
Yes, to put yourself on face-to-face
equality with your chosen Hollywood
beauty, you must begin with a clean, firm,
glowing skin. Proper use of creams is
absolutely necessary . . - , your make-up
then will really make you glamorous!
If you find yourself face-to-face with
any beauty problems, don't despair! Just
sit right down and write me a note about
them .... about your skin, your hair, your
make-up or figure worries. And, too, I'll
be glad to tell you the name of any
product you're interested in. Carol Carter,
Modern Screen, 149 Madison Ave., N. Y
16, N. Y.
QUEE1V OF THE MAY
That's what we'll he this next
issue. And tops in the field and
fullest of gab. Why not pick up
your May MODERN SCREEN
this early April 10? Such fun.
Be Lovely to Lov
e
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When applying and removing
cleansing cream, always use up-
ward and outward motion. To
remove, wrap absorbent Sitroux
Tissue around hand, like a mitt.
(Tissues go further*, cleanse bet-
ter, this way.) Then, pat with
cotton soaked in skin freshener.
Chili Spareribs, golden brown, richly spiced
from slow roasting in barbecue sauce is Texas
"chuck wagon" specialty you'll want to try.
Next, apply rich lubricating cream.
Start from upper chest; work with
both hands. Circle gently upward
along throat. Make an upward
half-circle around back of neck.
#
For firming exercise, bend head
forward, relaxed; roll to right,
back; left, back to front. Repeat,
circling left to right. Leave cream
on half-an-hour (overnight, for
dry skin). Remove with Sitroux
Tissue, using upward strokes. Ab-
sorbent Sitroux removes cream
thoroughly; fine for hankies, too.
1
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92
rstanding
ciation an
d tha
ROUX
TISSUES
What's
Cookin',
America?
Constance Moore, now working in new film
"Delightfully Dangerous," loves a recipe
starting with "a big, juicy Texas onion."
By Nancy Wood
For the 10th Regional Cookery Series we roam the
Lone Star State, roping in prime all star recipes
■ Take a long, wistful look, girls— those are real pre-war
nvlons on Constance Moore's beautiful legs in the dance
number which she does with Pinky Lee and Tommy Ivo
in "Earl Carroll's Vanities," her current picture, in which
she co-stars with Dennis O'Keefe. Residents of Dallas, Texas,
will see this new gay musical with considerable satisfaction
because Connie is their home-town-gal-who-made-good.
Although she was born in Sioux City, Iowa, in 1920, she grew
up in the amazing state of Texas, famous for jackrabbits,
long-horned cows, helium, barbecues, pink grapefruit, hand-
some men, onions and enormous distances from hither to
thither. And you'd better not try to fence them in!
Connie started her career with the do-re-mi of singing
lessons at fifteen. A natural singer, she was soon heard over
a Dallas radio station. An uncle, the kind of uncle any gal
would cherish, bought a Texas network program tor his
chain of drug stores with the stipulation that any singing
would be done by his favorite niece. In 1937, Rufus Le Mane
of Universal Studios, talent scout, heard her and offered her
a contract at $100 a week. A year and a half of rigorous
training and very minor movie roles followed. Then came
romance in the form of John Maschio, actor's agent. She
meant to talk only business at first, but his mind was on
romance. So Johnny missed a first-class
business deal, but he married the girl and
they have lived happily ever after. Little
Mary Constance was born in 1941 to com-
plete the family circle.
Johnny is very lucky! Although Con-
stance was voted "the most beautiful girl
on Broadway" when starring in the
naughty "By Jupiter" in New York in
1942, she can cook! (The dish-washing
afterwards leaves her cold, however.) She
loves rich foods, especially chocolate cake,
but rations herself sternly because of a
natural feminine fear of losing the stream-
lining of her present very shapely figure.
Coming from Texas, Connie has a wide
variety of foods to choose from. Texas is
so huge that a number of climates and
agricultural conditions prevail. Great
quantities of peaches, apples, cantaloupes,
citrus fruit, dates, figs, strawberries, black-
berries, potatoes, rice, tomatoes, peanuts,
pecans, onions and spinach are raised in
some parts. The coast of the Gulf of
Mexico is awash with all kinds of delicious
sea-food. The cow country has steaks
galore, although now, we are sure, they
dutifully turn in their red points for these.
Texas has comparatively few "spots" or
dairy cows. Because beef cattle who roam
the range would kick the sunbonnet right
off any dairy maid approaching them with
a milk pail, most Texans use canned milk.
"Bait" in Texas has been influenced by
the cookery of the Southern Atlantic
States, by the "chuck-wagon" of the cattle-
grazing districts and by "adobe" foods from
neighbors across the Rio Grande.
Pecan Pie is a famous Texas dessert,
classed by Connie as an irresistible tempta-
tion. You wouldn't make it often these
days because of its sugar content, but for
special occasions, when you feel you and
your guests deserve something extrava-
gantly good, here's the recipe:
LONE STAR PECAN PIE
1 cup corn syrup
Yz cup sugar
3 eggs, slightly beaten
2 tablespoons melted butter or fortified
margarine
1 cup coarsely cut pecans
Juice of 1 lemon or orange, optional
1 unbaked 9 -inch pie crust
Blend all ingredients thoroughly. Pour
into unbaked pie crust. Bake 10 minutes
in hot oven (450° F.). Lower heat to
moderate (350° F.) and continue baking
until a silver knife blade inserted in center
of filling comes out clean. This is a rich
pie so it can be cut to provide 8-10 portions.
With all the steaks and chops and
roasts roaming the grasslands of
that state, we have chosen "meat
stretchers!"
Tamale Pie, delicious served piping
hot, stretches a pound of hamburger
to serve six. Chili Spareribs are
lickable and rich in flavor. There is
Baked Stuffed Fish to serve with an
early Spring dandelion or young let-
tuce salad. Try Texas Chili con
Came, or Baked Stuffed Onions.
While you're thinking of it, send
us that stamped, self-addressed enve-
lope for your FREE leaflet of meat-
stretchers.
The MODERN HOSTESS, Dept. CM.
MODERN SCREEN MAGAZINE
149 Madison Ave., New York 16, N.Y.
If at first you
don't succeed. ...
(A SEQUEL)
If you've got a little grocer
Who is worn and sad and gray —
And you ask your little grocer
For Fels-Naptha Soap today i
If you nag him and you scold him
Even try your cutest tricks
Yet in spite of all you've told him
He continues to say "Nix."
t accuse the man of hoaxing
Don't mistrust his empty shelf —
Think of Mrs. Grocer 'coaxing'
For Fels-Naptha Soap, herself!
How to
Keep
FRESH
Bathe! Then dry yourself gently. Next
shake Cashmere Bouquet Talc over
yourself. All over. Quickly it dries
lingering moisture. And gives you a
ravishing freshness.
How to
Feel
SMOOTH
For ultra comfort, sprinkle some extra
Cashmere Bouquet Talc over those little
trouble-spots before you dress. It pro-
tects chafable places with a silken-
smooth sheath.
How to
Stay
DAINTY
2 Shades
Natural and
Even Tan in
iOe and 2 Of
sizes
Pamper your body often with Cashmere
Bouquet Talc. It's an inexpensive lux-
ury. Hours after you use it, it perfumes
your person with its dainty fragrance
. . . the fragrance men love.
B0 Jff&F.
with the fragrance men love
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CUTICLE
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(Continued jrom page 47)
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certificate he wrote, "November 14, 1944.
So you can see why Dick Crane gets
soft and sentimental whenever a four-
teenth comes around. In fact, Dick and
Kay's happy home might still be a deep,
dark secret if a surge of that sentiment
for number fourteen hadn't hit him right
over the heart one particularly vulnerable
evening and made him blurt out what now
he's glad all the world knows. That hap-
pened the evening Anne Baxter and
Modern Screen tossed a party up at Anne's
house one month to the day after the
Richard Cranes were Mr. and Mrs. Kay
was whooping away with the flu that
night, but she made Dick show up as
he'd promised, and the sight of all the
gay couples having a whirl made him
about as happy as a mourning dove with
the absent-lover blues. They began to
needle him about his sad sack puss, and
Dick blurted out at last, "How the heck
can I have any fun with Kay home sick
in bed? And on our anniversary, too!"
"Your what!" They practically yelled it.
Dick stuttered and stumbled around try-
ing to cover up, but the deed was done.
solid citizen . . .
Five minutes with Dick, and you know
for sure he's a solid citizen from away
back. The guy's a rock— and how he ever
found himself mixed up in anything as
notoriously artistic and screwy as the mo-
tion picture racket is something I'll never
figure out. Don't think he's not serious.
Both Dick and Kay are dead set on making
this acting business holler "Uncle." But at
the same time Dick's absolutely hipped on
not going Hollywood.
Take the time a couple of years or so
ago when Dick snagged what was, until
then, the biggest movie break of his life.
He played a nice little part in "Susan
and God" as Joan Crawford's daughter s
boy friend. And while it was no bid for
an Academy Award, it was a long leap
forward. Maybe too long, thought Dick.
So what did Crane do, the minute he'd
finished the picture, but grab a job washing
dishes at night at a Hollywood drive-in
for twelve bucks a week and meals! Since
"Susan and God" paid off with a real roll
of folding money, by all rights he should
have celebrated. "Are you nuts?" his pals
pestered him.
Said Citizen Crane, "I'm scared to death
of going hi -hat. I want to keep my balance!"
Practically the same thing happened
again after Dick rang the bell at Twentieth
Century in "Happy Land." It won him a
Zanuck contract and reams of publicity,
besides a tidy new salary. If he needed
anything then, it was a new car, or another
car, at least.
They even hinted around the lot that
Dick would do well to go down and look
over Madman Nuntz's more up-to-date
used-car models. After all, a new con-
tract player doesn't have to spread it
around, but he can at least keep his coat-
tails from dragging on the curb.
puffin" on the dog . . .
"No," said Dick. "Maybe later — but not
now. That old heap is part of me. If I
went for a new one now I'd be changing—
going Hollywood." So he's still pushing the
'39 rattletrap around. Nobody's going to
glamorize Crane unless it's his pup
Muffins. , , . , ,
Because Dick even carried his stubborn
armor against Hollywood elegance right
down to the dogs. He'd long craved a pup
around the house— the last one he had
was a collie when he was three— so when
Kay and Dick got hitched and found the
little hillside hideaway, first thing Dick
suggested was an addition to the family —
strictly canine. Kay had a lot of ideas on
the dog subject, and most of them leaned
to various breeds of thoroughbreds. Dick
likes pedigreed pups, too, but — that old
complex about suddenly going gorgeous
stopped him.
"I think," said Dick soberly, "it would
be a lot better taste if we just went out
to the pound and got a mutt."
Kay sighed that she'd see, and in a day
or two she greeted Dick one evening with
the cutest woolly coated little white fe-
male Maltese terrier you ever saw.
"Muffins" it was from the start. She's a
personality pup supreme, and she's al-
ready famous. "Get's twice the publicity
I do," Dick growls good naturedly. But
here's the pay-off:
Trotting past a Hollywood kennel one
day, Kay and Dick were hailed by a man
who came running out all hot and both-
ered. "What a beauty!" he cried. "What
a perfect specimen! A show dog! Where
did you get her?"
Dick and Kay said "The pound."
The man clapped his brow like he'd had
a mental hot-foot. Then he jabbered out
the amazing facts that Muffins was a very
rare sample of Maltese terrier with all
the points and perfections of a canine
aristocrat.
Maybe I'd better explain that along with
this absolute allergy to any brand of
Hollywood chi-chi, Dick Crane carries a
sober, industrious, logical and studious
urge to be a really topnotch actor. It took
him a lot of long years since he got out
of high school to make up his mind
about what he really wanted to do with
his young life — and once he'd found out —
well, have you ever noticed that slightly
bull dog jaw he wears week-days and
Sundays?
Dick pumped gas in gas stations. He
herded trucks and rippled his muscles as
a day laborer, too, trying to find himself.
He skipped college and tried the school
of hard knocks. Once he spent a season on
the complaint desk at Sears-Roebuck, pa-
tiently trying to untangle the woes of irate
customers with beefs. He gained a poise and
manliness that you catch right off when
you meet him, and he thanks his lucky
stars now that he got a chance to meet the
people and see what made them all tick.
So — from the moment he went on a stage
in a Bliss-Hayden school amateur produc-
tion, mastered his first stage fright and
felt the thrill of acting, he knew what the
answer was. "Okay — so acting's my busi-
ness. Then I'll know my business!"
old times . . .
Here's an example:
When Dick came up for "Happy Land,"
which as you know was his first crack at
the real recognition, he faced a knotty
problem. His part added up to a kid
of seventeen, and Dick was twenty-five.
So what did he do? He took a notebook
and went around to all his school pals and
interviewed them on what cooked when he
was young and gay. Then he grilled his
mother about what he talked like, how he
acted, how he wore his hair, what he looked
like. In short, he went back about eight
years in every department — and he clicked
on the screen in a tough assignment.
When he met up with Kay Morley and
fell like a load of bricks, Dick Crane found
himself coupled up with an ambitious girl
after his own serious heart. She's a beauty,
brunette, slim but dreamily built, with dark
eyes with just a slight Oriental slant to
them. The result is something special for
beauty that first got Kay started in Holly-
wood. She made the team right away after
Long Beach high school as a Goldwyn Girl.
But that wasn't enough — just being a movie
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showhorse. Kay has brains and talent un
derneath her beauty. By the time Dick
met her, Kay was well on her way to being
a young actress around the studios. It
was Dick's agent, talking about picture
parts, you'll remember who introduced
them. By now she's played the lead in a
Republic epic, and Dick will tell you right
off, "I'm mighty proud of her; She's a
swell little actress."
So they're two of a kind, and their
favorite fun at home is acting out scenes
from plays. In fact, except for their anni-
versary splurge on those Fourteenths I
mentioned, the newlywed Cranes never
budge outside their house after dinner. In-
stead, they haul down a stack of scripts and
plays and emote away at each other like
a couple of Barrymores.
the human animal . • .
This is where poor Muffins comes in.
Kay and Kick have a particular scene
they'd rather tackle than anything. It's
from James Thurber's hit, "The Male
Animal," one where Dick goes a little on
the berserk side and tears up the joint.
The furniture gets tossed around a bit,
and all in all it's too much for Muffins.
The first time they let themselves go
on "The Male Animal," Muffins high-
tailed for the bed (where she usually
sleeps rolled up at their feet), and she
didn't come out for twenty-four hours.
The next time she stayed under two days.
They've done all they can to explain to
the poor pup that it's just art in bloom
but it looks like murder to Muffins!
Kay and Dick live in the funniest little
joint you ever saw. They call it "The
Third Bear" because it's the smallest of
three little guest cottage offshoots of an
opulent old estate up in Laurel Canyon.
It clings to the side of a hill and looks
like something out of Grimm's fairy tales.
It's nice and remote so that neighbors can t
complain no matter how many tempests
of art and drama they stage. It's plainly
furnished, neat but simple. There's not an
ounce of elegance to make Dick feel un-
comfortable or make his old pals shy away.
A Southern California raised boy, he has
loads of pals around town in all kinds of
rackets. You wouldn't know a one if I
named them, outside of possibly Dicks
best chum, Johnny James, a young actor,
another, Bob Mitchum, and possibly his
agent and friend, Bert Marx. They come
up to The Third Bear with their wives,
and it makes Dick and Kay happiest when
they can all loaf around and whip up a
mess to eat. The only thing Dick Crane
ever asks of his guests is that they don t
treat him like a movie star and that they
let him go around snapping candid
cameras of everybody, because he's one
of those photographic nuts. However, he
pays them off in the end with a Crane
Special, which is a grilled steak.
But that sort of thing sums up Dick.
He's a homebody as never was. He likes
to fix doorknobs and electric switches
and take the refrigerator apart. He ruined
a perfectly good alarm clock just because
he had an idea he could make it wake him
up No commercial clock yet made can turn
the trick so Dick had a Rube Goldberg in-
vention dreamed up with a few sirens and
explosions and things. Once, he claims, he
slept two days without a look at the sun,
but maybe he just dreamt that. Its a
fact, though, that Crane's one obvious vice
is a tendency to show up late for appoint-
ments I hate to have to tell this on Dick,
but it's a matter of record that he was even
late to his own wedding! ^ ' _
That's why, when you ask Dick Crane
about his talents, he grins,; "The things I
do best are sleep and eat!
That's not real gospel, but it s true that
Crane, like Crosby, is a no-nerves
phenomenon. He's on the easy-going,
phlegmatic, poised side, and his majoi
worry in life is keeping down to size in
spite of all those hearty meals.
He's never had an anxious twitch in front
of a camera, on a stage or before a mike
since his first amateur stage performance.
That's very probably, he admits, what's
behind his very real and pressing horror
of changing personally — of going Holly-
wood. "It's like this," he'll tell you very
shrewdly. "What I've got that clicks on
the screen is naturalness. What I've got
to do is keep it!"
He used to study his lines at night and
prep up like a Phi Bete before final exams.
He had a letter-perfect memory, and once
he got his speech he was set — too set. One
day in an Army training picture Dick was
handed a long speech. It was really a dinger
— technical and tough — and he sat up late
that night learning every syllable. Well,
when they lined up, the director cried,
"Wait a minute! I've got some changes."
He slashed out a couple of lines here and
a couple there. That did it. Dick had his
mind so set on the job that when he hit
those gaps he got a mental block. He
ended up blowing sky high and having to
read the thing off a blackboard.
That taught him a lesson. Now he never
learns a line at home, just thinks the
meaning through (and talks it over with
Kay) , then he catches the speech before he
goes on.
wanq wang blues . . .
The only time Dick ever spoiled a take
that he can remember was his death scene
in "Wing and a Prayer." It was a water
tank scene. They had it lined up with a
mesh of caps to explode like machine-gun
bullets hitting water and a powder charge
on a life raft that was to blow up under
water like a torpedo at a certain moment
in the scene.
In the melee the life raft with the ex-
plosive somehow got blown around by the
wind machine, smacked Crane right on the
rear under water and promptly set itself
off with a wicked "Ka-wooosh!"
That wasn't in the script. Neither was
it written down for Dick to leap the heck
out of there yelling, "Holy Gosh, I've been
shot in the fanny!"
What really embarrassed Dick was that
just before the fiasco scene a group of
visiting naval officers' wives had arrived
on the set, and he didn't rest easy until
he'd gone around to all of them personally
and apologized for the colorful yipe.
the torso terrific . . .
Dick takes a lot of kidding from his pals
about getting fat, but it's no joke for him
to keep it streamlined. Ever since that
famous coatless pa jama scene in "Wing
and a Prayer" which made the bobby
sockers (and some older girls, too) squeal
a la Sinatra, Dick Crane has been on the
spot as "The Torso." It's kept him busy
his spare hours.
He kept plugging away at sports all
through his school days — track, basket-
ball, baseball. He played fullback on his
high school team and got elected captain.
He worked summers at the Los Angeles
mountain camps. In his spare time he
packed all over the Sierras chasing deer
and other game. Dick tuned his reflexes,
too, racing hopped-up jallopies in AAA
meets at Muroc Dry Lake.
Maybe you didn't know it but Dick
Crane almost took a serious crack at the
prize ring.
But his mother worried about it (and
rightly) , so he stopped at last.
Anyway, he's "The Torso" whether he
likes it or not, and Crane aims to care for
it, and still enjoy his vittles. At age 27 that
calls for action. His answer is a rigid sys-
tem of sleekline exercises, that Dick plugs
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Like most husky guys Dick Crane has the
disposition of a gentleman angel. Gets along
like a top with his in-laws, Kay's Long
Beach folks. Kay chums up easily with
Dick's mother, too, and they get together
on all holidays and have a swell time.
The only time, in fact, on record thai
Dick got his dander up was the last time
he and Kay stepped out on their monthly
"anniversary." They were leaving a cafe
when a drunk got a quick vision of lovely
Mrs. Crane and cracked, "Hi, Beautiful!"
Well, that didn't bother Dick any— but Kay
elected to rise above it, and the drunk got a
bit nasty. "Won't talk, hey?" and on like
that. So Dick just grabbed him by the
shoulders, snapped his neck a few times to
sober him up.
Dick's a modest dresser — a dark tailored
suit every time, a dark knit tie, , a white
shirt. He likes his brown hair cut short
Eastern style. He goes for a dash of
cologne here and there after he shaves
(twice a* day when he goes out.) He likes
cigarettes and pipes. He reads best sellers.
He can take jive or leave it but prefers
just pretty, tuneful music. He sings around
the house (and with a rich baritone that
is really something). He's an average
sentimentalist, with a wrist watch his
mother gave him on his twenty-first birth-
day that he won't take off, and a lucky
tiger's eye ring that he's worn in every
picture. He keeps a four-leaf clover a fan
sent him in his wallet. He likes to dance,
but slow and to sweet music, does a miser-
able rumba, like most mere males. He's an
incurable beach hound in the summer and
tans up like a Kanaka.
happy land . . .
Dick hates crowds on general principles
and abhors previews. He's thrifty with
both his small change and his banking
money, and like any typical American
hubby he's worked out an insurance plan
that will protect Kay and put him on Easy
Street when he's fifty. He's a lousy
gambler, likes poker sessions and gin-
rummy — but always loses his shirt. His
conservative citizen outlook slipped only
once on the horses. That was when he
needed 100 bucks to pay a doctor bill and
got a red hot tip on a ten-to-one "sure
thing." He borrowed ten bucks to get him
the hundred — only he lost the ten-spot in-
stead, and that cured him.
The main worry in Dick Crane's life,
right now— is that he's a 4-F because of
a punctured eardrum, the sad result of his
reckless slugging days. Meanwhile he
hustles around on hospital entertainment
tours every idle stretch.
When you get down to ambitions, Dick
Crane's number one dream is to crack this
acting business in a big way, with Kay
Morley right along side. Number two,
maybe, to own a triplex apartment where
he and Kay can live in one and rent out
two (he's a canny Scot, that guy). And
after that, if he gets on Easy Street, a
rambling country house with a photo-
graphic dark room where he can putter
to his heart's content. Oh, yes, there's an
immediate objective, too— Dick wants a
honeymoon— and in one particular place,
New York City. He's planning that after
"Captain Eddie" gets safely in the can.
As for other imponderables such as
acts of God— well, haven't I been saying
all along that Dick Crane is the Solid
Citizen supreme? Sure he wants kids.
So does Kay. So far Muffins has beat
them to the punch with five furry bundles
in a quintuplet blessed event. That's quite
a feat to beat, and I don't think the Cranes
have their hopes quite that high.
But you never can tell. After all, his
friends call Dick "Storky" Crane, don't
they?
SPELLBOUND
STORY
(Continued jrom page 39)
sharply against the desk-top: "I've no
time for it."
"No time for me? Or no time for love?"
"Both."
Fleurot shrugged: "One tries," he said.
"There's no harm if one tries."
"None at all," Constance said crisply.
"Very well, then," Fleurot said. "Back
to science. Back to our very pleasant
Green Manors, our little sanitarium. Back
to our patients — our mad, interesting pa-
tients— and their neuroses and psychoses."
"Back to work," Constance said drily.
"To work," Fleurot nodded. "By the
way, what do you think of our new head
and master — Dr. Edwardes?"
"I don't know him."
"He's due in today."
"He's got a fine reputatidn. He's done
some remarkable work in psychoanalysis.
I think he'll measure up to the standard
Murchison set here."
"It's a little sad for Murchison, isn't it?"
"Yes," Constance said. "It's a little sad."
They both looked out of the window
again where the pleasant buildings of
Green Manors held against the blue sky.
You would never know, seeing them
casually, that Green Manors was an in-
stitution for the mentally deranged.
turbulent minds . . .
Edwardes turned out to be, somehow,
not quite what Constance expected. He
was younger • than she had thought, for
one thing, remarkably young for one al-
ready so famous: and very slim, straight
and tall. And handsome. Not that that
made any difference to Constance.
It was all quite ridiculous. Yet she felt
she was almost blushing as she re-read
Edwardes' note asking her to drop by to
discuss one of her patients. She shrugged
angrily at herself and rose from her desk.
She walked firmly down the hall and
knocked crisply on the door to Doctor
Edwardes' office.
She found him in his office with one of
her patients, Garmes. Garmes was saying
intensely: "Doctor Petersen has been very
kind. I know she's trying to help. She
tells me I have a guilt complex. But I
tell you I killed my father — "
Constance said quietly: "It isn't true,
Garmes. Sometimes people feel guilty
for something they never did. It goes
back deep into their childhood. It be-
comes a guilt complex. And one day
instead of being a bad dream it becomes
a reality to the patient."
"Yes," he said slowly. "That's right."
They watched Garmes go out of the
office. And Constance had again the feel-
ing that she had felt the first time she
met Anthony Edwardes — that he was
somehow under a strain.
"It's lovely country you have up here,"
he said.
"Yes, it is," Constance said.
"I've really never been shown around.
I've a slight headache, I'd like to get out.
I wonder — " The telephone rang and he
bent to it with an irritated frown; he
spoke into it in short, choppy sentences:
"Yes, this is Doctor Edwardes . . . Who?
. . . Norma Cramer? . . . I'm sorry I don't
know who you are . . . please, I'm very
busy ..." He hung up sharply and
turned back to Constance.
love from a stranger , . .
Late that night Constance was still up.
She slipped into a dressing robe and
snapped the light on in her room. She
walked up and down restlessly. She
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couldn't sleep; images from the past day
kept flashing through her mind — the lean,
hard figure of Anthony Edwardes outlined
against the sky as they climbed the hill
behind Green Manors.
She pushed open her door and slipped
noiselessly into the hall. She needed
something to quiet her, a book perhaps.
She'd find something in the library and
read until her eyes closed over the heavy
pages. Coming back from the library,
she noticed a sliver of light under the
door of Anthony Edwardes' room.
Abruptly, she knocked ...
Edwardes was still awake, seated at his
desk. He looked tired, a little drawn.
Constance stood awkwardly at the door
for a moment.
She said a little unsteadily: "I was
going to tell you that I came in because
I wanted to talk to you about your book.
I nist took it out of the library. But that
isn't true."
ne said: "No?"
"No. It isn't. That isn't the reason."
"Did I tell you how much I enjoyed our
little outing today?" he said. "It was kind
of you. More than kind, really. And that
isn't the point either." He leaned forward.
"You're lovely, Constance. I know why
you came in."
"Why?"
"Because something happened to us to-
day. Because we're in love."
She was halfway across the room then,
and she saw him rise and come toward
her, and she knew then that it was true
and that she was in love with him. She
always remembered it that way, that
sharp moment of realization just before
he reached her, just before his face was
buried against her own.
Then suddenly, he was pushing her away,
and on the desk the phone was ringing
insistently. He kept staring at her.^
"Tony," she said, "what's wrong?"
He said tensely: "I'm all right."
"What is it?"
"It's not you. The robe. The white robe.
The lines on it."
He became aware of the ringing of the
phone, and he turned to it slowly. "Who?
. . . Garmes . . . attempted suicide ... is in
surgery . . . yes, of course, I'll be over."
He said slowly to Constance: "I'm all
right now. You heard what I said on the
telephone. Garmes has run amuck. We've
got to get over there . . ."
But he wasn't all right. At surgery,
Constance watched him closely. She saw
it when his whole face tightened as he
leaned over the operating table, his
knuckles like small white lamps gripping
the edge of the table.
"What are we doing? Why are the
lights out? Put them on. Unlock the
doors. You idiots. What do you know
about guilt complexes? He did it. He
said so, didn't he? Put on the lights . . .
He was weaving, and he began to fall
before Constance got to - him. It was
Fleurot who caught him.
"Heart, do you think?" Fleurot said.
"Overwork," Constance said. "You could
see he was under a strain."
anonymous love . . •
She sat with the book in her hands
beside his bed under the dim light waiting
for him to wake.. The book was opened
to the flyleaf. On it was Anthony Ed-
wardes' autograph. Beside it was the note
Edwardes had sent her to come to talk
to him about Garmes.
The handwritings were different!
His eyes were opening. Then he saw
her, and he half smiled and tried to say
something.
"I folded, didn't I?" he said.
Her hands were flat on the book, and
she said quietly: "Who are you?".
"So you know ... I don't know who I
am . . . Not Edwardes ... I couldn't be
Edwardes . . . because I killed him . . ."
She said softly: "Do you remember what
I told Garmes? About a guilt complex?
I think this is the same thing, Tony.
You're suffering from amnesia . . . and
we can cure that. And we can cure your
fears about Edwardes . . ."
"Fears? It's not a fear. I must have
killed Edwardes. How did I know his
name? You're right. There's a locked
door in my mind. But behind that locked
door is — murder . . ."
"Tony, trust me. You must trust me."
He said steadily: "I do."
"Then you'll do what I say?"
"What do you want?"
"Go to sleep now. Rest. And in the
morning we'll go at it again."
But he didn't keep his promise. He left
in the night, stealing away from Green
Manors. And it was just as well that he
did. For the girl who had called him
earlier, Norma Cramer, came to Green
Manors late that night . . . with a sheriff.
She had been Edwardes' secretary, and
she had recognized on the phone that it
was not the voice of her employer. The
sheriff questioned Constance; and she said
she knew nothing, she didn't know where
he had fled . . .
And all the time she was aware of the
sharp press of the square envelope she
was trying to hide, the letter .she had
found under her door. A letter that read:
"Dear Constance:
I cannot involve you in this. I am
going away. If the police come, tell
them they can find me at the Empire
State Hotel in New York. I will be
there alone . . . waiting . . ."
Constance listened for the sound of the
sheriff's car driving away from Green
Manors. And then she moved swiftly. She
packed a small bag. In the dark corridor,
she paused listening. Quiet. Then finally
she ran down the hall and out the door.
It seemed strange: How long ago was it,
forty-eight hours? Forty-eight hours ago
she had been a woman untouched, devoted
only to her work. Now she was running
off, like a thief, to find a man who had
possibly committed a murder. Now she
only knew that she was in love and that
somehow she had to help this man . . .
She found him at the hotel.
"Tony, I had to come."
"Where are the others?"
"I'm alone."
"The police?"
"They don't know where you are, Tony.
You mustn't tell them yet. Let me try.
Tony, I can help you. I can help both of
us. Do you remember how we climbed the
hill behind Green Manors? I knew then
I loved you . . ."
"Love," he said bitterly. "I love you
with all my heart. With all of a murderer's
heart. I can't let you risk — ."
She was close to him, reaching toward
him, pleadingly: "I can help you, Tony."
She found his hands and holding them to
her lips, she suddenly saw the scars like
two vivid tracks: "Tony, you've been
hurt. You've been in an accident. Where?"
"I don't know."
"Think."
"I don't know."
"They're burns. Where could you have
been burned?"
His face was tortured: "Air ... I was in
the air . . ."
"Alone?"
"No. There were others. A plane. Yes,
a plane. Transport, Medical Corps. Over
Rome. Hit us. Caught fire . . ." He fell
back against the back of the chair.
"Tony," she said. "We know now. We
know you were a doctor in the medical
corps. That you were hit by flak, and
the plane exploded . . ."
He said: "Yes, I think I can remember
that now — "
"It's something to go on, Tony."
"It's something go on," he said flatly.
"Until we reach the point where I re-
member meeting Dr. Edwardes . . ."
lost memory . . .
The days became nightmares of urgency
and tension. They had to flee, always jus
ahead of the police, because a clerk be-
came suspicious, or a bellboy suddenly
eyed them too sharply. They were always
afraid. And in the stolen quiet minutes
they had to probe, always deeper into
the forgotten past. Until Tony turned on
her, his face contorted, almost with hatred,
crying: "Stop it, stop it!"
But little by little the picture was com-
ing clearer. His initials were J.B.; he had
been in the war; he was a doctor; there
was something in the past, in his child-
hood, that weighed heavily.
It didn't all tie in yet. And then Con-
stance decided to take him to Brulov, the
man who had been her teacher. So one
night they found themselves in Brulov's
small house in Rochester, knowing the
police weren't far behind. Brulov knew,
of course. You couldn't fool Brulov.
"Maybe you are a fool," said Brulov.
"This man quite possibly did murder Ed-
wardes. In any case his condition is
always dangerous. You never know what
he might do. Still if you want me to help
... yes . :."
So they prodded Tony once more, forc-
ing him to talk, making him declare any
nonsense that entered his mind.
"I seem to be in a gambling house . . .
I am playing cards with a man with a
beard ... I say Twenty-One, I win . . .
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the proprietor comes in ... he has an
argument with the bearded man . . .
suddenly I am on a high place ... I see
a man teetering on the edge of a roof . . ."
Outside it began to snow. The soft white
flakes danced like a white curtain before
the window, filling it, until the whole
window was white. Tony suddenly stopped
talking, staring at the window. And then
he rose and he said unsteadily: "Pull
down the shade. PULL it down!"
He fell back into the chair. Constance
was at his side in a moment. She stroked
his face and she said: "It's all right now,
darling, it's all right. It's coming clear."
Brulov said: "Leave him alone. He will
be all right in a moment."
Constance said eagerly: "The high
place ... a mountain of some sort. And
the teetering man was Edwardes, of course.
He must have seen Edwardes fall off a
cliff or a mountain. That was how it
happened. But where, what mountain?"
"His fear of white," Brulov said. "That
must be connected. Perhaps a mountain
covered with snow. A winter resort."
"A skiing resort!" Constance said.
"Edwardes was wild about skiing. Yes, of
course. That's where it must have been.
Do you remember Tony, talking at one
point about swooping, about wings. Per-
haps that has to do with the name.
Heaven. Or Angel. Angel Valley . . ."
He was coming out of it now and he
sat up slowly in his chair and he said in
a far-away voice: "Gabriel Valley . . ."
"That's it, then, Tony," Constance said.
"We know now. All that's left to do is
to go out there. We can discover the rest
if you and I piece together what must
have happened between you and Edwardes."
"You mean reenact it?" Tony said slowly.
She nodded.
"And suppose that I did kill Edwardes.
That he didn't fall off the cliff. That I
pushed him off — "
"Then," Brulov said flatly, "you might
try the same thing with Constance."
"No," Tony whispered. "No."
"We must try," Constance said. "Listen
to me. I know this is not scientific. But
I am certain there's no murder in your
soul. I know it because I love you. Loving
you, I know what you must be like inside."
missing fink . . .
His eyes were on her as they came
down the slope together. Gabriel Valley
lay wreathed under the cold sun. The snow
glistened and sparkled like a carpet of
white gems down the side of the moun-
tain. They had begun at the very top of
the run, and now gathering speed, they
were weaving down the mountainside,
Constance a little bit ahead. She looked
behind her and waved to Tony.
This was the place. Here in a few mo-
ments, a few minutes at the most, they
would discover what had happened that
day with Edwardes. Constance believed
with all of her heart, and yet. . . . She
couldn't help the growing sense of tension
and she looked back to Tony, trying to
see his face, against the whip of the snow.
Then it happened, so swiftly that she had
no time to think. The ski trail curved
right, and she swooped with it. Suddenly
ahead she saw the lip of a cliff. It had
been hidden from view until this last
moment, this last turn. She knew she was
going too fast to stop or to turn aside. It
came looming up at her with all the terrible
speed of a waiting fate. Then, in the
moment before she steeled herself for the
fling into space and nothingness, she felt
the smash of a body against her own and
abruptly she felt the whip of snow against
her as she rolled on the ground.
She sat up. Tony was sitting up not very
far away. His face was dead white, white
as the snow. He was staring at her with
glazed, almost closed eyes. But even then
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she knew what must have happened, and
her heart was singing.
"Tony — " she said. "Do you see how it
must have been? You were skiing with
Edwardes as you were with me. He was
out in front as you came toward the cliff.
You saw it coming and you tried to warn
Edwardes. You tried to catch him and stop
him as you caught and stopped me. But
he was going too fast. You never caught
him. He went over the side — "
Tony was shuddering: "Poor man. And
you. You might have — "
And then he reached for her.
They were almost gay, waiting in the
lodge before the fireplace. They felt free
for the first time in weeks. They had gone
to the sheriff and had told him the story.
He was out now to retrieve Edwardes'
body. If they found it there, it would
corroborate Tony's story.
They sat together on the long leather
sofa before the fire and watched the flames
leap and sputter over the logs.
"I always loved you," she said. "I think
from the first time I saw you."
"The first time I saw you," Tony said,
"you were frowning over one of your
reports."
"I promise never to frown again."
"Darling," he said. "Darling."
They heard the sheriff then, stamping
his feet clear outside. As soon as he came
in, they rose, looking toward him. He
said:
"Yes, we found him there."
"I told you," Constance said.
The sheriff said softly: "There was a
bullet in his back — "
It was Tony who first saw what he
meant and watching him, Constance, saw
the light drain from his eyes until they
went dazed and tired again.
"I arrest you for the murder of Dr.
Edwardes," the sheriff was saying.
quaint question mark . . .
She was on the train again, going back
to Green Manors. For there was nothing
else to do just now. She couldn't help
Tony. She needed time to think. She
needed the quiet of Green Manors to go
over the whole thing again and find out
where she had made her mistake, where
she had forgotten some terribly important
detail. It was there in the dreams, she
was sure . . . the answer. Tony hadn't
killed Edwardes. But who had?
The familiar buildings of Green Manors
were flowing past. She would be in the
station soon. She remembered painfully
each detail of how he looked and what
he said. She remembered the slope of his
jaw and the swimming depths of his eyes
and the wonderful joy of his smile. It
couldn't be Tony.
The train slid to stop. She reached for
her small bag. And on familiar ground,
looking at the sweeping elms and the quiet
hills, the question beat insistently; and
she knew that she would have to find an
answer. Who killed Dr. Edwardes?
She walked steadily down the tree-
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Garmes Norman Lloyd
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Norma Janet Scott
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EVERYTHING'S JAKE!
(Continued from page 36)
directions, catching bugs with his wide
open mouth.
"Hey, you guys!" yelled an older seaman
who'd been on this run before. "Don't you
know that what goes up comes down?
Get below before some shrapnel tags you!"
Dick Jaeckel wouldn't have left that
deck even if they'd slapped him in irons.
When Richard Hartley Jaeckel starts to
add up all the thrills he collected on his
first cruise in the U. S. Merchant Marine
Service, he has to stop and think. There
was the great thrill of planting his feet
on the bridge and steering a fast ship
loaded with Yank troops and war cargo
to distant battlefields. The bang, too, of
buddying up with other rugged guys
dedicated to getting the stuff through that
licks the Japs. There was the thrill of
danger, the rumors of subs and blasted
ships on the very course his own tub
steered. The excited crackle of "S-O-S"
coming through the night from a tanker
swamped in a heavy gale. The mingled
thrills and shocks of finding dead Japs
piled up below Suicide Cliff on Saipan and
still littering the bloody pillboxes of the
Marshalls. The color of new horizons,
strange lands, exotic people, a luau in
Hawaii, a stockade of Jap prisoners on
Saipan, the Mariana island natives, the
waterfronts of the big Pacific ports.
no more "chicken" . . .
You might as well get this straight about
Dick right now: All that "baby" stuff they
iced him with like a birthday cake in both
his movies is out the window — fini, kaput,
washed up. It always irked Dick that "cute
kid" stuff that stuck after his "Chicken^
baby Marine part in "Guadalcanal Diary"
and "Beezy," the Navy infant in "Wing
and a Prayer." Maybe that's why Dick
was such a reluctant dragon about being
a movie star, why he had to be practically
roped and hog-tied by Darryl Zanuck to
make his second picture after the first one
brought him raves.
It burned Dick to an even finer crisp
to realize that he was young — darn it—
seventeen, that he looked kiddish with his
crew cut, round face, big eyes and wide
grin. When actually he had had all his
growing pains years ago and was a mem-
ber in good standing with a bunch of
he-guys, the JUGS (Just Us Guys) , every
one of whom was an athlete like Dick
himself, and most of whom had beat him
long ago to this war business.
It didn't make it any easier to get the
razz from his pals about being a swoon kid
in times like these when guys grew up
fast. And even when he'd pestered his
anxious mother into signing consent for
him to be a Maritimer and escaped to
"Guadalcatalina" (as the Maritimer boots
tabbed the Catalina Island training camp),
he ran right into the same old malarkey.
"Chick-en!" Every time he passed a
certain seaman he got that jeering call in
a tone that was nasty. "Hel-lo, Chick-en.
How's my Chick-en?" The guy had seen
the movie of course. He resented Dick.
He poured it on, with unprintable varia-
tions. Dick was a lowly boot and helpless.
If he even talked back, he was out on his
ear. All he could do was cut his palms
with his nails and growl down deep in
his throat. But it made him sick — mad.
That same razz- artist wrote Dick a letter
not long ago, incidentally, and Dick got it
by air mail, way out on a Pacific Isle.
"Look, Jake," he wrote. "I'm sorry I
needled you in boot camp. It was a lousy
trick. I thought you were a Hollywood
punk, but you can take it, and you're
okay in my book. Have a good trip, and I
wonder — would you write me once in a
while? I'd sure like to hear what's
cookin' with you."
But it was a mess of things like that
back last fall, along with Dick Jaeckel's
urge to get clear away on his own, that
made him sit right down on the idea of
passing more time in the US Maritime
cadets, training to be a ship's officer. One
of his JUG pals, Jay Richards, went for
that and just graduated the other day.
Dick's pretty young mother, Millicent,
liked the idea for Dick, too. Dick's young
mater has always been more like a pal
to him than a parent. But she's only
human. Mothers always want the best
break for their sons. But Dick had to
have action, and he knew it. He couldn't
stand any more school. When he and his
JUG pal, John McCroskey, who'd enlisted
and booted through camp with him,
qualified for ordinary seamen and had
weathered their shakedown jobs on a
channel boat, Dick and he decided the
time had come to shake loose for the real
thing. They signed on for a sea voyage
out of San Francisco.
Dick didn't even stop home in Holly-
wood to say goodbye. There might be
complications. Jake and John hit the high-
way thumbing north up the Coast. In
Frisco he called his mother and told her
the news. "I'm shipping out," he said. "I
don't know where, but I think it's the
South Seas, Espiritos Santos, the Fijis,
maybe Saipan. Don't you worry."
rich man's poor boy . . .
It was R. Hanley Jaeckel's first break-
away from home in his young life. Pur-
posely, he carried only a few bucks to
eat on. He'd sold his car, the snappy '36
heap, in Los Angeles and mailed the check
home to be banked. He thought he'd be
berthed aboard ship right away, so he was
stony broke when he hit San Francisco.
Dick has always held a high disdain for
money. He's even sensitive about it. Al-
though his folks, fur magnates, have never
had to bother too much about where their
next dollar came from, Dick has preferred
to act all along like a poor boy.
But he'd never been busted before, clear
away from home with the problem of meals
and a place to flop. There was some waiting
on his shipping papers. Dick checked into
a crummy waterfront hotel on the strength
of his pay to come, $8 a week. It was
hardly the Waldorf. The rooms had no
doors, for one thing, and when the dock
wallopers, stevedores and seamen came
roaring in at night off a spree anything was
•likely to happen, and usually did. To
anyone else it might have been a sordid
experience, but to adventurous Dick it
was swell. He battled the fleas and the
noisy guests who stumbled into his room.
By day he stripped to the waist and
stevedored cargo on board the C-l to
earn his check. At night he learned to stay
away from the hotel until it was late
enough to sleep. With Johnnie McCroskey
he sampled the waterfront bars and clip
joints, just to get toughened up. That's
where Dick had his first fight.
situation well in hand . . .
It was a booze -happy Marine on leave
who started it. He was a big guy, but he
was out. of line, and when he spied Dick
and Johnnie come into the bar, he got nasty
about "civilian punks." He inferred in
blunt language that they ought to be
home in bed and not out getting in the
way of a Marine on a tear.
"Say that outside," invited Dick, be-
cause he was sore. First because of that
kid stuff. That was like a red flag to a
young bull. Second, because he was a
U. S. Merchant Mariner with a Union
Card saying "Richard Hanley Jaeckel.
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Member in good standing, Sailor's Union |
of the Pacific." The Merchant Marine
don't wear uniforms on shore leave unless
they want to, but that was no sign he had
to take any guff, not the way he felt after
shouldering plane parts into the C-l hold
all day.
Well, nobody got hurt, but they had it
out in the alley, and when it was over,
the situation wasn't well in hand for that
Marine. But it was for Jake.
Dick's not touchy or belligerent, but he
is handy with his dukes and, being an ex-
high school football, basketball and track
star, he's nobody to pick on. He had to
square off again once later aboard ship
when a sailor started pushing him around
because he looked young and tender. Only
the second time victory came high for
Dick. The captain called him up and told
him sternly that scrapping wasn't done
aboard that particular ship. What's more,
he fined Dick $40 in pay. But it was worth
that to Dick to slap down any last, linger-
ing hangovers of that "Baby" and
"Chicken" stuff.
Seaman Jake Jaeckel was neither rich
nor good lookin' as you'd expect a movie
star to be by the time his "tub" steamed
out the Golden Gate. What few bucks he
made stevedoring on the San Francisco
Embarcadero and the Oakland docks he
had to blow for a durable satchel of gear —
dungarees, weather jacket, slicker, socks,
shoes and shirts. It set him back thirty
dollars, and he stowed it all in one little
bag along with a few assorted brands of
smell pomades and toilet goos. They've
always called Dick "The Lotion King"
because he smears himself with the most
odoriferous preparations in the drug
shoppes.
John McCroskey, Dick Jaeckel and crew
heaved anchor in the 5000-ton C-l after
15 days loading, and they hadn't even
cleared San Francisco's beautiful bay be-
fore they knew that anything could hap-
pen on this cruise — and probably would.
They slipped out fast in a fog (a C-l is a
war-built cargo ship not as big as a
Liberty tub but faster) with the fog horn
giving out with a "Bee— O— Bee— O" blast
every couple of seconds, it seemed. Just
by luck it was on Dick's watch that they
almost smacked this other steamer in the
pea soup mist. Dick was standing by
watching the helmsman when he spotted
the gray hulk sliding right across their
bow not farther away than he could spit,
it seemed. Then he got knocked to the
floor when the engines reversed, and the
ship shuddered like it had just suffered
a Sunday punch. It seemed to Dick that
the two ships peeled the paint off each
other if it wasn't blistered off first by the
skipper's cussing.
It was mostly a green crew that manned
the ship, so the few old timers thought
they were in for some fun. Dick was no
old salt or anything like that, but he'd been
fairly water wise ever since his catboat
days as a kid off Long Island. Neither he
nor John McCroskey were lubbers enough
to fall for the guff that went on. In spite
of their training, it took a long time to get
wise to all the lines and shackles and
hitches and hatches and to savvy auto-
matically the snappy orders the bos'un
sang out. But Dick wasn't born- yesterday,
and he was on the lookout for gags.
He didn't have to wait long. First came
along a salty seaman carrying a pole long
enough to vault over the bridge. "All
right, mate," he told Dick. "Get forward
and stand by to pick up the mail buoy."
"The what?" said Dick.
"Mail buoy. You'll see it. Just keep a
sharp look out at the bow, and when you
see the mail bag, hook it with this here
pole. Mail buoys are parked along the
ocean every hundred miles, you know."
"Oh, yeah?" said Dick, giving him his
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toughest look and spitting over the side
into the wind. "I'm not expecting any
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rest in peace . . .
Of course, Merchant Mariners don't sit
around all the time cooking up ribs and
practical jokes. Dick had to work like
all the rest, and when he finally got back
in San Francisco after his 4 months at sea,
his clothes were so far gone from rips and
tears, so messed up with paint stains that
he just tied them all up in a shirt and
slipped them over the side into San Fran-
cisco Bay with a "Rest in Peace" prayer.
The only miseries he endured were just
laughs, really. A piston rod down in the
engine room smashed his finger and made
him swear blue blazes once when he was
oiling the engines. The tub tangled with
a few squalls and storms, but Seaman
Jake never even had a butterfly tummy
until the home trip when they hit a real
hurricane that blew waves up to the flying
bridge. It reached its peak just after he'd
been to mess and gone up to take the
wheel. That's when the "S-O-S" came from
two cargo ships sixty miles back who
cracked into each other in the twister.
It could have been that excitement, some
bum chow or just a plain case of too
much weather for a green sailor.
aloha ho! . . .
That's something Seaman Jaeckel doesn't
talk about though — unless he plays truth
and consequences. He'd much rather
dwell, if he has to, on more pleasant
aspects — like Honolulu, Hawaii, the first
port of call. Dick had never seen the
Islands. So he acted just like any tourist.
He charged out to Waikiki Beach, hired a
surfboard and skimmed in on the long
rollers that are nowhere else in the world.
But it wasn't until his last night on the
Islands that Dick got a look at the real
Hawaii. A cop he'd met in San Francisco
ran into him and Johnnie McC. hanging
around the bright spots and gave them the
Word. "This ain't the real thing," he ex-
plained. "It's just sucker stuff. Come along
with me, and I'll show you boys the
McCoy."
He steered them off to a Hawaiian
family he knew who were tossing a luau,
which is a combination clambake, jive-
jump and old home week. Dick saw the
real hula there (and even cut a few
grass mats himself). He feasted on raw
fish, rice and a dozen exotic chow entrees,
and he heard native scat numbers that
made the records he'd heard sound phony.
He learned that "Aloha" meant everything
from "I love you" to "bottoms up" and
even "goodbye." He sailed next day with a
slight okolehau hangover but with some
wonderful memories and a new chapter
in his education completed. Another one
started the minute the "tub" steamed out
of Pearl Harbor for the South Seas.
They took on troops in Hawaii and
joined a convoy, zig-zagging clear to
Eniwetok in the Marshalls and that took a
lot of time. With all those GIs on board
and time on their hands — guess what hap-
pened? That's right — the tub turned into
a floating Monte Carlo, only not so elegant.
In no time at all Jake Jaeckel was sharp
as a tack on the finer points of pedro, stud
poker, pitch and acey-deucy, and his crap
rolling arm was well broken in.
Of all the chapters of Dick Jaeckel's
seagoing education, however, Saipan is the
only one printed in red ink. Dick was a
good guesser when he picked that rugged
island as one of the C-l's destinations,
away back in Frisco. One dawn Dick saw
the rugged isle looming out of the clear
Pacific sea, and he would have sworn it
was Catalina back home, except for all
the greenery. The first minute they had
off from duty, Dick and John bustled
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ashore lugging sacks for souvenirs, and
they weren't disappointed, although they
had some trouble with the MPs every
now and then.
Dick and his buddy set out to explore
the island from the low shelf where the
Marines first landed to the high cliff
where the last of the desperate Japs took
headers into the surf — Suicide Cliff they
call it now. Along the way they collected
Nip helmets, knives, Jap ammunition and
insignia, and stuffed them in their souvenir
bag. Dick craved a Jap rifle, but the
Marines had got there first.
shooting the works . . .
They made a lot of trips like that —
about every day between deck watches.
They visited native villages and picked up
a few words of Saipanese, or whatever you
call it. Dick saw his first women in weeks
on Saipan in — of all places — a Jap prison
stockade. He saw his first movies in weeks,
too, on Saipan at the famous open air
theaters which every Hollywood star on
tour has visited, from Betty Hutton to Bob
Hope. "Jane Eyre" and "Up in Arms"
were the hot features.
Six separate times while Dick's ship was
lying off Saipan, the Japs came over for
a whack at the bomber field. Sometimes
day and sometimes night, and it happened
so suddenly that every time, it seemed
to Dick, it was over before it got started,
and he kept kicking himself because he
hadn't brought a camera along.
Dick and his mates started "sweating
out Christmas" on Saipan away back on
December 1. One day the scuttlebutt said
they would sail and make it home in time
for egg-nog. The next day a black rumor
of delay would pop up. Finally sailing
orders came through, but that very day
so did reports that Japs had been sinking
ships between there and Pearl Harbor.
"That means we zig-zag," gloomed Dick.
"All over the ocean. Get home around
Easter, maybe."
When that was all cleared up, the next
word was that their cargo home would
be troops going back on leave.
"Well, that means we go convoy," mused
Johnnie dolefully. "The creeps — we'll hang
our stockings up in a porthole yet — wait
and see!"
home was never like this . . .
But just to show how those things work
out: What really happened was that the
C-l sailed home riding high and empty
and never even stopped at Pearl Harbor,
but came straight on into San Fran.
Dick Jaeckel thought he could hardly
wait for the train to roll down the Coast
back to Hollywood. His pants were bulging
from his payoff dough, almost four months
of it and quite a wad — every dollar of it
earned. A seaman gets two days leave for
every week at sea, too, and it added up
to almost a full month of liberty for Dick.
He twirled his brand new silver Merchant
Marine anchor ring and visioned what a
kick it would be when he slipped on his
comfy old sports jacket and slacks, settled
down at home in an easy chair and got
ready to tell the gang of JUGs all about
it and after that — well — called up a certain
Girl and just said casually, "Guess who
this is?" Merry Christmas and Happy
New Year! You could say that again.
It would be a very nice way to end
Dick's sea-going saga, all right. But when
I saw Dick, things hadn't quite worked out
as expected. "Hollywood," stated Seaman
Jake, "is lousy." He looked rested, re-
cuperated and fit as a fiddle and definitely
not the type, age nor temperament to take
such a bearish view of life. But there'd
been some changes made. I guess there
are reasons at that. C'est la guerre.
For one thing, the housing shortage had
caught up with his mother, Millicent, and
she was living around at friends'. So Dick
stayed with his pal, Jay Richards, just back
from the Maritime cadet schools
As for the JUGs — heck, there was no-
body around. They were all scattered to
the seven corners of the world. No bull
sessions. Dick fooled around a little, tak-
ing in the Palladium, some solid cafes and
a couple of parties with his mother, and
got on the phone to stir up things, but it
wasn't too successful. He didn't even go
out to the studio.
So he clipped his leave short by ten
days and signed to ship out of New
Orleans on a tanker at the earliest sailing.
He thought he'd like to cruise as far away
as possible— maybe to South America and
whatever the tip of that is — Patagonia?
(Could be that's where Dick is now.)
He'll be an Able Seaman in two more
months, and if he feels then like he feels
now, he'll go right on striking for mate's
papers and sail around for years and years.
Oh yes — I forgot to mention another
thing about that sad situation Dick Jaeckel
found when he got home. This Girl. It
seems she was a casualty of war or rather
a bitter example of what a sea-going man
is always running up against.
She was engaged. Practically married.
I don't know how much that had to do
with Dick JaeckePs outlook — but I could
guess. He seemed to take it very phil-
osophically. "Chalk it up to experience,"
said Dick in a low voice.
Which is another sign the guy's getting
grown up, even if he's still only eighteen.
DEATH TAKES NO HOLIDAY
During the time that World
War II claimed 121,363 Ameri-
can lives, 495,000 Americans
died from cancer.
Those are statistics. Those
495,000 human beings were
not. They were flesh and bone
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Last year 18,000 children un-
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(Continued from page 42)
might depend on how Mr. Payne felt about
it—"
Mr. Payne felt fine about it. He knocked
at the door that Saturday night —
"Who is it?"
"Payne," said John. And Gloria opened
the door to her future husband.
They looked cute together at the party —
he so big, she so little. It hadn't been as
strange as Gloria'd expected. They got
lost, which was funny, because John kept
saying he could find the Ladd place with
his eyes shut —
"Maybe you'd better shut them then,"
she suggested.
But they just went up and down hills
and asked people, and finally a little boy
said, "Sure. There's a heck of a party
around the corner — "
For two people who'd never met before,
conversation proved surprisingly easy.
They stayed till 10:30, dropped by at the
Clover Club for one dance, then he took
her home —
"It's been awfully nice," said Gloria. "I
had fun — "
"Me, too," said John.
now i know . . .
No sparks flew. It wasn't love at first
sight, it was just a date. Marriage? Don't
be silly. At nineteen and headed for star-
dom, Gloria had things to do. Also definite
views on the marriage question, packed
with good, hard sentiment. No marrying
for her, just to be married. When the right
man came along, she'd know him. If it
meant waiting till she was 30 or older,
she'd wait. As for John, his mind was on
the house he'd just bought — on Julie, his
daughter — on picking up the career he'd
dropped when he enlisted in '42 — on any-
thing but marriage —
That's how it was when they met, and
when John phoned her a couple of days
later and took her to the Cugat opening
at Ciro's. Just a date. Just good company
for each other. From the first he called her
Button. Never Gloria. "I'd like you to
meet Button De Haven," he'd say. They
went to movies and to the beach, and he
came to dinner at Gloria's house. Both
dated other people. But the better they
got to know each other, the better they
liked being together —
It took a separation to make them realize
what was happening. John left on a camp
tour and was gone for two weeks. Gloria
went out with other boys, but didn't seem
to care about it much. The world was a
little askew till the phone rang one night,
and she heard John's voice again. Then
she went away— to Palm Springs with her
mother and sister. And John came down,
and that's when they both began wonder-
ing—
To outsiders, the whole thing seemed
sudden. They met in September and were
married on December 28th. To Gloria and
John, the only sudden part was the wed-
ding date. They hadn't known each other
long, but they'd made it their business to
know each other well.
Coming home from the beach one day,
John had said: "How would you feel about
not dating anyone else?"
They talked it over. It wasn't to be an
engagement, just a kind of test. If they
missed seeing other people, they'd know
it wasn't right. Well, they found it was
right, that's the best way they know how
to put it. Being together gave them a sense
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of peace, being together made them feel
right inside —
They talked everything out beforehand.
Their careers. Julie. Gloria's mother.
She's very close to her mother. Mrs.
De Haven thought John was wonderful,
but Gloria was her baby. Her engagement
might come as a shock. Gloria wouldn't
do anything to hurt her mother. . . They
talked out all the problems — present, past
and future — and how to deal with them —
John with the soberness of experience,
Gloria with a wisdom beyond her years.
This marriage had to be built on granite,
this was for keeps —
Then Gloria told her mother. To her
mother, it did come as a bolt from the
blue and no one's pretending otherwise.
But after the first shock and the hugs and
the tears, Mrs. De Haven asked only one
question. "Are you sure, Gloria?"
"So sure—"
It wasn't the words so much, as a look
in the shining, steadfast eyes. "Then that's
all I want to know — "
John phoned his mother in Virginia.
"Don't be surprised when you hear I'm
engaged, Mom — ■"
"Wonderful, son. Now we can send you
your hope chest." It was a great day for
Rosie, John's aunt, who's 70-odd and sews
like an angel. She'd started on his linens
when John went into the Army. But they
sent Gloria something better than linens.
It came tha+ night while she was at the
movies with John. Mother left it under the
little nightlight in the bathroom. "We'll
just love having you in the family," it said.
"All our love. Mom and Rosie."
They wanted a honeymoon, so they
planned to marry when John finished "The
Dolly Sisters." Meantime, there was plenty
to do. The house, for instance — Colonial
with green shutters — the kind of house
Gloria'd always wanted to live in —
"Now I know why I bought it," said John.
Decorating had been started along
strictly masculine lines. "Now I know why
I'm marrying you," Gloria said. "So I can
change things — "
They went to the beach a lot. Gloria'd
never had much time for sports. Under
John's tutelage, she was learning how much
fun she'd been missing. At Palm Springs
he gave her her first riding lessons. Now
he was teaching her to swim. One day he
appeared on his motorbike, and her mother
and Marjorie watched wide-eyed as little
Gloria climbed up, tucked her arms round
his waist and went snorting off as cool as
you please — she, who'd never even smelled
a motorbike till that minute —
Often, they'd take Julie along to the
beach. She calls Gloria Button too, and
they're fast friends. What's more, Gloria
and Anne Shirley are friends, which speaks
volumes for both. We'd like to quote Gloria
on the subject, because we've rarely heard
clear, straight, grownup thinking better
expressed —
commonsensical . . .
"It's ridiculous to imagine we shouldn't
meet, or that we'd meet and freeze each
other up. We've got one terribly important
thing in common — Julie's happiness. Anne
brings her over and the baby sees us to-
gether and accepts it as natural. In Febru-
ary, Anne's marrying Adrian Scott. Julie'll
spend her time between us. She adores her
mother, but she's also fond of me. No one
could ever replace her father, but she likes
Mr. Scott. That's how we all want it. That
way, there's no strain or tension for the
baby. There'll be two homes where she's
loved and needed, and she'll grow up
knowing that the people in those homes
are friends — "
Saturday before Christmas, they went to
a dinner party attended by a few close
friends.
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"When are you going to be married?"
someone asked.
They'd given up the idea of waiting for
"The Dolly Sisters." It looked as though
John might go straight from that into an-
other, and Gloria's schedule was still more
uncertain. They'd been thinking of Janu-
ary. John would finish recording on the
morning of the 28th, and be free till the
12th—
Up spoke a voice. "What's wrong with
the 28th? You'll have almost two weeks."
Out of the hubbub and laughter, the
crossfire of questions and answers and
suggestions, two voices finally rose —
"J can manage," said Gloria calmly.
"Then what are we waiting for?" asked
John.
You couldn't do anything Sunday, and
Monday was Christmas. Gloria's family
had dinner at John's. He gave her a topaz,
to be set in a ring — and a tweed topcoat,
made by his own tailor. She gave him a
pair of gold cuff links, bought before their
engagement was announced. Marjorie had
been dubious. "D'you think it's all right,
giving a man jewelry?"
"For this man, it's all right." That's
when Marjorie began wondering —
The shopping turned out to be a snap.
For the wedding, an adorable ice-blue
satin suit, blue being John's favorite color.
Sidney Guilaroff at the studio was going
to make her hat. On Christmas Day, she'd
worn the blue angora sweater Marjorie
knitted, with a matching band in her hair
and a beige wool skirt. John was so crazy
about it, he'd asked her to wear it for
going away — under the new topcoat.
Mother gave her the most exciting thing in
her trousseau — a powder-blue maribou
jacket that came to her knees. From the
age of nine, she'd pined for a maribou
jacket. But when birthdays and Christmas
rolled around, there was always something
else she really needed —
Two whirling days and their memories
Teasing Marjorie, their maid of honor, who
was wearing white —
"She'll look more like a bride than I
will—"
"What happens if I get nervous and
marry the wrong girl?"
Gloria's horrible fear that she'd say
something wrong in the responses. She and
John getting out their prayerbooks, and
rehearsing the beautiful solemn words to-
gether. Dinner with John Wednesday,
saying good night for the last time as
Button De Haven. Going home to super-
vise the packing, but Mother and Dad and
Marjorie had it all done —
Last minute things next morning. Every-
thing perfect, except she had to wear rayon
stockings. John always teased her because
they bagged at the knees. Imagine walking
down the aisle with your knees bagging.
But what could you do, if rayon was all
you had? Then, an hour before the wed-
ding, Ann Rutherford like an angel to the
rescue —
"Hold everything. I've got a pair of
nylons for you."
Dressing at the church. Sidney Guilaroff
came with her hat — the loveliest miniature
picture hat — blue satin crown, black tulle
brim, blue roses. Her suit was new and
blue, the little pearls in her ears and round
her throat were old, the prayerbook was
borrowed from Marjorie. John's white
orchids were pinned to her shoulder, and
she felt fine, thank you, not a bit nervous.
Next thing she knew, they had smelling
salts at her nose —
oh, promise me . . .
The tiny sweet church in Beverly was
candlelit, and trimmed with white gladiolas.
The family and a few close friends had
gathered. The wedding march, and two
small boys walking down the aisle, lighting
the altar candles. Then Marjorie. Then
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Gloria, on her father's arm, looking as
serene as if she'd never heard of a smelling
salt. But John says her hand shook the
whole time it lay in his, even when he
slipped on the plain gold band, with its
guard of rubies — Gloria's birthstone. It
was a single ring ceremony, because John
always wears a ring that belonged to his
father —
The little reception at a friend's home.
Gloria grabbing the one person John didn't
know, and introducing them, so she could
say, "My husband — "
Then the goodbyes and the rice and the
last hug for Mother, who just waved like
the rest, and never shed a tear — and how
Gloria loved her for it knowing how she
felt. And Mary Ellen and Clarence at the
door of their house, welcoming her in,
calling her Mrs. Payne as easily as if
she'd been Mrs. Payne for a month at least.
And dinner at their own table with the
Lazy Daisy, and changing for the trip and
off to Palm Springs in the rain —
And howling next morning over a corny
gag of Dad's. He'd stuck a package in her
bag, all done up in tissue and blue ribbons,
which turned out to be her mangiest ten-
nis shoes —
"The reason I married you," said John,
"is because you're a baggypants comic at
heart. I've been waiting to find someone
cornier than myself, which I thought was
impossible — "
tapeworm hostess . . .
As it happened, they had only four days
at Palm Springs. John was called back.
But they didn't mind. All that seemed to
matter was being Mr. and Mrs. John
Payne. They could honeymoon nicely in a
white Colonial house —
Which is what they've been doing.
Sometimes Gloria gets breakfast. She
can scramble a mean egg, but hates to
clean up. Her eating habits move John to
awe. She devours potatoes and laps up
desserts, the gooier, the better. She out-
eats him at every meal but breakfast, and
even there she's beginning to catch up.
Her first words in the morning, and her
last at night are: "I'm hungry — "
John feels her head. "You couldn't be
sick and eat like that. On the other hand,
you can't eat like that and be normal.
Why don't you weigh 250 pounds?"
He'd rather have her casual than glam-
orous. Likes her in slacks and sport shirts
and sloppy joes. And pigtails. "I look
fresh out of school," she protests.
"Is that bad?" asks her husband.
She's a pest about presents. Let Gloria
find out that a present is on the way, and
she'll give you no peace till she knows
what it is. She can't wait for the day.
Long before Christmas, she knew all about
the topaz and the coat. This burns John
up. On their first anniversary — they'd
been married a week — he gave her a lovely
little tourmaline cross —
"It's a standin for your real wedding
present, which isn't ready — "
"Oh, John, it's so beautiful for a stand-
in!" Brief pause for decency's sake.
"What's the real one?"
"The real one," he informed her grimly,
"will be a surprise if it kills us both — "
She couldn't budge him that time — had
to wait till it came — an old-fashioned dia-
mond pendant on a thin gold chain —
Because John's been away so long, Julie's
with them now. Her "Hi, Button!" rings
through the house. Five next July, she's
the roughneck of the world — licks the tar
out of boys three years her senior. Once
Gloria buffed her nails to show her how
pretty they looked with the grime off. Now
they've got to be buffed every day. "Look,
Poppy, how pretty — "
"My, what a clean little girl you are — "
This inspires her to stay clean for a full
five minutes.
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All the lessons she'll ever need in child
training, says Gloria, come from watching
John with Julie. One evening the baby
had finished her prayers, blessed her pri-
vate list of friends and relations —
"Julie," said her father. "It's good to
have a nice dinner and a warm bed and
people to take care of you, isn't it? — Well,
there are children in Greece and Poland
and all over the world who don't have those
things. So let's bless all the children in the
world and ask God to look after them — "
"I don't know all the little children in
the world — "
"You don't have to know them. Just
think how you'd feel without Poppy and
Mommy and Button to love you and give
you what you need. You'd certainly want
God to do something about it, wouldn't
you? So let's ask Him — "
When Julie gets hold of something, she
hangs on. "I don't know all the little chil-
dren in the world — "
John stood up. "All right then, I don't
want to know you. Good night. I'd rather
not talk to a little girl who doesn't care
about anyone but herself — "
Five minutes. Ten minutes. "Poppy!"
He went in. "Poppy — I don't know all the
little children in the world — but I'd like
God to bless them — "
I SAW IT HAPPEN
When we were in
California three
years ago, my hus-
band worked at the
"Bit Of Sweden"
Restaurant. One
evening, while wait-
ing for him, I no-
ticed a crowd gath-
ering; they were
waiting for Spencer
Tracy to finish din-
ner and come out.
When he finally did, he was escort-
ing a tall, slender young woman who
seemed to melt into the background.
I didn't pay much attention to her
until Mr. Tracy looked up from sign-
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better get this young woman's signa-
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your top favorites one of these days."
Good guess, Spencer Tracy, spotting
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(Continued from page 45)
she bent the low-slung sizzler into his big
brown eyes. "Hey," grinned Bogie. "Turn
it off a minute. I got a name for you.
'You're the Look.' "
"Is that so?" drawled Betty. "How about
you .
said
"Me? Oh, I'm 'the Hangover,
Bogie.
Betty has a lot of names, as you might
have gathered. Betty, Charlie, Slim,
Junior, The Look and just Bacall, like just
Garbo. Oh, yes, and Lauren. That's the
one officially up in lights from now on,
so maybe we'd better use that, although
it's not her real handle at all. She bor-
rowed it from her grandmother. *
You can tell that from the gold tag-
bracelet she wears on her right wrist. It
says "Betty Bacall," and it's a gift, she'll
admit, from a man. What man? Just a
man. The Man, by any chance? Yes,
Lauren confesses, The Man. "There's a
love in my life," she states openly. Who's
that? Lauren levels the Look and then
wipes it away with a sweet smile. She's
not telling, and she's not kidding, either.
Nobody in Hollywood knows who The
Man is or where he is. Lauren is close-
mouthed; nice about it, but still zipper-
lipped. (The Man, of course, as we all
know since this was written, is Bogie — Ed.)
Somebody asked her the other day,
"Who's your best friend?"
Betty answered seriously. "My dog,
Droopy. He's the only one who never
betrays a confidence."
So, obviously, Betty can be stubborn
about some things.
One of them is going Hollywood, even
in a minor way, turning into Miss Movie
Star. Betty's against that. Glamour gags
her. She's not the type, inside or out.
She's not pretty, and she knows it, not
doll baby-Shirley Temple-Jeanne Crain-
Linda Darnall pretty. Her cheekbones
are too high, her mouth is too wide and
not even a first cousin to a cupid's bow.
She has a scar on her right cheek (a little
one). Her blond hair is streaked by the
sun, and when you ask her if it's naturally
wavy, she says, "Heavens no — that's a
permanent!" Her eyes aren't pools of azure
but a frank gray. Her teeth are not strings
of pearls. She's trim all over but no Betty
Grable. I still think she's darned good
looking — added up — but Betty says no.
"Call me interesting looking," she sug-
gests. Okay.
Anyway, when the Warner Brothers saw
the first rushes of "To Have and Have
Not" and realized what a prize package
they had on their hands, they got ideas.
Before the picture was released, she had
twice as much publicity as any other gal
in Hollywood. It wasn't all press agentry,
understand. Betty had something — a whole
lot. Walter Winchell took one look, spent
his whole column on her. The magazines
photographed her from every angle. Both
the United Press and the Associated Press
gave her titles like "Most Interesting
Actress of the Year." The snooty fashion
bibles named her Model of the Year. Bacall
got letters from service guys overseas
naming her this and that. One pigboat
outfit in Japanese waters broke the silence
of the silent service. They voted Bacall
"The girl we would most like to sink to
the bottom with!!"
beauty for the best . . .
When the tornado first got going, it
sucked away every picture of Lauren
Bacall in the studio — whisht! — like that.
They called Betty into the gallery for a
mess of glamour sittings. But first Perc
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Westmore, the beauty expert, stood off
and cocked his experienced eye. He knew
just what to do. They were yelping for
glamour stills of Bacall, weren't they?
Okay, we'll give 'em the glamour.
"That hair," began Perc, "has more
stripes than El Morocco. Better tint it.
The mouth— too big. We'll paint that up.
That scar — hand me my collodion tube.
Tweezers, please, for the eyebrows. Now
about the nose — "
"Look," interrupted Bacall icily. "Just
wait a minute. Who do they want these
pictures of? I mean, whom?"
"Lauren Bacall, of course."
"Then for Pete's sake, don't make me
somebody else! What," inquired Betty
caustically, "did they sign me for if they
wanted somebody different?"
There wasn't much answer to that. It's
no use arguing with Betty, anyway, when
her mind's made up. They took the pictures
plain. There weren't any complaints.
It seems to Betty Bacall that all she has
done since the lightning struck her is
make photographs. No girl outside of
Jane Russell has ever had such a pre-
picture hurricane of hurry-up orders for
Bundles of Bacall. Because she's grateful
to her old modeling alma mater, "Harper's
Bazaar," for the break it brewed her, Betty
keeps right on modeling clothes for them.
I don't know how many publications there
are in the USA, but it's a safe bet that
99 per cent of them want a picture of
Betty. Recently, it got so that Lauren
was watching the birdie between takes,
during lunch hours, before breakfast and
after dinner. Right before "The Big Sleep"
was finished and she fled to New York
for a vacation, Betty was about to collapse
with the screaming meemies. She was
beefing around the set about her weary
load, and Bogie Bogart heard her.
"Oh, for God's sake, Charlie, shut up!"
he snapped. Lauren did. She just stared.
"Listen, Creep," said Bogie pitilessly,
"you wanted to be an actress, didn't you?"
Betty knew what he meant. She grinned,
and then wiped it away. "Yes," she said.
"I did. I always did."
She never made a truer confession.
There's plenty more back of Bacall than
just freak publicity, a hot look and a
crazy break. She's had stars in her eyes
for years. Now that the stars are right up
close— well — Betty's not so sure it's for
her for keeps. She can see the tinsel al-
ready, which is a good healthy sign. But
there was a time when the divine fire
burned bright. She acted like the most
stage-struck kid ever whelped and it
worked, too. What lit the divine flame
was a lady who acts on the stage next door
to Lauren now. Name — Bette Davis. But
I'll get around to that later.
Lauren Bacall is part French and part
Russian by ancestry although her folks
were settled in the USA several genera-
tions before she came along. Betty's an only
child, and it's been her and her mother
since she was a tot, because her parents
split up early. Oddly enough, that's turned
out to be sort of a break — that and the
fact that she was born right on Manhattan
Island, back in 1924. I mean, both_ cir-
cumstances have given Betty a self reliance
and older-than-her-years outlook that has
come in handy.
hookey'ed inspiration . . .
She was a naturally smart kid, too.
Got out of Julia Richman High in New
York at 15, without being a girl grind or
a book beetle. In fact, at the school she
was exposed to before Richman, Highland
Manor in Tarrytown, the class prophecy
tossed this bouquet at Betty when she
graduated, "Betty Bacall — girl most likely
to grow up and break men's hearts."
Corny, of course, but not so far off the
beam, either, as it turns out.
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Betty's mother has been a business
woman all her life and still is. She has a
secretarial job in a Beverly Hills defense
firm now. That left the budding Bacall
more or less on her own to obey her
impulses during the day, and she never
faltered.
One fine day at Richmond High, when
Lauren was a fascinating fourteen, she felt
much too good to sit in school. So she
aretended she was sick. With her best
Ijsrl friend she hookey 'ed out and hopped
il subway to a Broadway movie. It was
Bette Davis in "Dark Victory," and Betty
md the g.f. sat through it twice. Betty
Bacall staggered home in a dreamy daze.
Why couldn't she act like that? Darn it,
|ihe could, she would!
Well, right after that Bette Davis came
;o New York in person and in the flesh,
itraight from Hollywood. When Lauren
learned that one of her mother's secretary
friends knew Bette's private secretary, she
jiidn't stop until she'd squeezed out a
iromise to meet her idol. The date was ar-
ranged all right, and Lauren took along the
|H friend for moral support. She didn't
jvant this to be one of those worshipping
lan things. She wanted, above all, to keep
jier dignity and show Davis she was a
incere admirer. That way she might learn
|t thing or two, not get the old routine.
I So the girls showed up at the Gotham
|Iotel, and Bette Davis was very gracious.
Jut Bacall just couldn't find her tongue,
nd the poor girl friend lasted until the
ast minute — then fainted dead away at
l)avis' feet! It was awful, stark tragedy
ja Bacall, and she cursed herself (and the
jirl friend), all the way home. But Bette
j)avis had managed to put in some en-
|ouraging words for an ambitious girl to
ling to— and that's really what started
all. Even to this day, though, the cat
rabs right hold of Lauren's tongue when
I SAW IT HAPPEN
One day, my
uncle, who was em-
ployed by a Los
Angeles garage, was
asked to deliver
Jon Hall's car to
him and then drive
him to the studio.
When he arrived
at Mr. Hall's home,
attired in his every
day coveralls, the
actor met him at the door — in a sarong
and sandals!
At my uncles' glance of amazement,
the star explained, laughing, "Well, I
see you're in your work clothes — and
I'm in mine!"
Valerie Vacco
Chicago, Illinois
she faces Bette Davis.
They met for the first time in Hollywood
in Warner's Green Room, one noon hour.
Davis remembered the New York episode
and chatted away like the always inter-
esting magpie she is. All Lauren could
say was, "Yes ... yes ... no . . .
uh-huh. . ." and such drab monosyllabic
mutter, and normally she's no dummy
at all.
Right after she called the publicity man
who'd introduced them. She was in an
agony of self reproach. "What must Bette
Davis think of me?" she wailed. "I acted
like such an awful, horrible, silly jerk."
"Come on by," soothed the press agent.
"We'll go down to Bette's set and you can
redeem yourself." So they did— but it was
the same thing all over. Lauren blushed
like a milkmaid instead of a smart New
Yorker, stuttered out her cramped cliches
—was all hands and feet— or at least that's
what she thought. But if Bette Davis
noticed her awe, she never let on. Again
she babbled away charmingly and ended
up by calling Henry Blanke, the producer,
and plugging Lauren enthusiastically for
the lead in his next epic, "The Fountain-
head," which every actress on the Warner
lot is fighting and praying to win.
Betty Bacall had more than hero-
worship to kick her along, of course. She
knew she could act; she knew she had it
in her. She was just one of those people
who know from the start. She was blessed
with a divine impatience, too. She had
natural nerve and a capacity for direct
action. So Betty ruled co'lege out because
that takes years and years, and getting
started in show business is a young girls'
game. Instead, Betty took a short flyer
at the National Academy of Dramatic Arts
at sweet sixteen. But that seemed ele-
mentary to her, and besides she wanted
action. Besides, too, she wanted a few
dollars. In fact, she had to have 'em.
So she went right down in the clothing
district and got a job modeling— not deluxe,
uptown modeling (as she did later on) —
but very obscure dog-meat modeling in
the crowded wholesale cloak-and-suit
temples. It was tiresome, dull work, but
there was a reason: Seventh Avenue was
right next door to Broadway, and Broad-
way was going to be her oyster, or else.
Betty's story gets a little familiar, right
here. It's the old, old Broadway beginners'
refrain, in fact. But bear with me. She
haunted the places stage-struck hopefuls
are supposed to haunt — in her noon hours,
days off and such. It took her quite a
while to discover that the chances of
success sitting outside a producer's door
were about 100,000 to one. Pounding pave-
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a close look. She was invited to one of
those gala Elsa Maxwell party productions.
All the great Hollywood ladies were decked
out in the most formal finery, and the
jewels were out of the safety deposit vaults.
But Betty showed up in a plain number
without a diamond in sight, her hair loose,
her shapely hands and arms bare of jewels.
She looked like a college girl who'd got
into the wrong party by mistake. So she
went over in a corner and sat quietly like
a pussy cat. But not for long. By the
end of the evening most of the males
were swarming around Lauren Bacall like
Idggs.
Privately, Betty Bacall's no more slinky
or sophisticated than the girl next door.
A couple of glasses of sherry is her limit
in the drinking department, although she's
a heavy cigarette smoker when she works
(those nerves, again). She likes music
(plays the piano) and likes to dance, too,
and it's gotten so that when Emil Coleman
sees her come into Mocambo, he swings
right into "That Old Black Magic," her
favorite tune. When she's sitting around
the apartment, though, Betty prefers to
tune the radio to sombre symphonies and
gloom herself into a state of delicious
sadness. That's where she is most of
the time — home — because she hasn't a
lot of friends.
Her fashion modeling background has
blessed Lauren with solid taste in clothes
and grooming. She always looks sharp as
a tack, she likes tailored suits, trim
dresses, sweaters and skirts and for let-
down, neatly cut slacks, which on her
willowy hips look perfect. Her favorite
colors are green and brown. She hasn't a
mink coat or even a furpiece. Betty treats
her taffy top to a permanent wave, but she
uses no other make-up come-ons except
lipstick, no nail polish and no baubles
besides the dog-tag bracelet and a mam-
moth gold ring that looks as though half
the bullion from Fort Knox were in it.
You can see it if you look at any of
Bacall's pictures because she has never
taken it off.
"I used to think I wanted to give my
life to acting," recalls Bacall. "Die in
greasepaint, and all that. But now I'm
not so sure. There's something sort of
empty about it, you know," she observes
with blunt Bacall candor. "Look at all
these movie stars. Happy? Uh-uh. When
they get what they want, they don't want
what they get!"
"After all," she'll sigh huskily, "women
were meant to be wives!"
I SAW IT HAPPEN
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upon the actor interrupted himself,
murmured to the embarrassed mother,
"Will you please take that poor scared
child out of here?"— and continued
right on giving the rest of the audi-
ence hysterics!
Josephine D'Onofrio
Hartford, Conn.
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Soothe and smooth it the simple,
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RESINOL" AMQ SOAP
POWDER PERFECTION
(Continued from page 76)
then work the powder down between the
brows over the nose, lips and chin. Use
a generous amount of powder. The pow-
der on your chin should be smoothed into
your neck with a circular motion. Go back
to your forehead and work the powder
across it. Do the same on your cheeks
but use a downward motion. A baby
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Notice that the eyelids are left untouched.
That's so you won't give them a dry look.
A clean piece of absorbent cotton will
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Didn't think there was so much to powder-
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3. TRUE. . Your powder can do a super
glamour job for you. Features that are
too prominent (like your determined jaw
or longish nose) can be toned down with
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and patient blending so that the powders
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them with powder.
4. FALSE. Choosing your powder should
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skin coloring with hair playing a close
second. If you are a blond with a heavenly
tan, you should cling to a rosy powder.
If you have light hair and pale skin, then
a light powder with pink under-tones — ■
a peachy powder — should be used. If you
are a glamorous brunette, you can play up
either the light or dark tints. A medium
golden color or a rosy beige will flatter
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Lushly simple, wasn't it? And that's
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SPELLBOUND
PRODUCTION
(Continued from page 39)
vard. The time: From dawn to dark. Re-
freshments: Doughnuts and coffee. En-
tertainment: A real Blood transfusion
given to a real Marine. Guests of honor:
The American Red Cross. Admission: One
pint of blood.
There were tears, tears of gratitude and
happiness, in the eyes of the Red Cross
nurse who hostessed the event, when she
said goodbye and gave her thanks to the
officials-in-charge at the end of that party!
For she left with quarts and quarts and
quarts of life-giving blood — blood to make
plasma enough to save the lives of hun-
Her own fault — if she'd check her
hat, pillow or hairbrush, she
wouldn't be sitting home nights.
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particularly oily hair, quickly col-
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She'd use Packer's Pine Tar
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. .;>„. much enerci ^
121
and ITS FRAGRANCE - LASTS
GIVEN'
dreds of wounded soldiers, sailors and
marines. And in her hands were stacks
of pledge cards with the written promise
of more blood in the weeks to come!
It wasn't easy to give a party like that.
It would have been simpler to have in-
vited a chosen few, stirred up a few
Martinis and filled a buffet with expensive,
rationed food. But, tired as they may have
been at the end of that long, difficult day,
the people at Selznick knew they'd given
themselves the nicest birthday party they'll
ever have. And boys who might have died
on a battlefield will return.
And "Spellbound" is the proof that in
ten years Selznick Productions has gath-
ered to it some pretty terrific names in
show-business. This picture combines the
acting talents of Ingrid Bergman and
Gregory Peck with the special talents of
Alfred Hitchcock (director), Ben Hecht
(screenplay), George Barnes (photog-
rapher), Artist Salvador Dali, designer
Howard Greer and all working on a story
written by Francis Beeding. That's a hard
combination to equal.
Most of the skiing scenes in this were
filmed in the beautiful Wasatch Mountains,
near Salt Lake City. Because of technical
difficulties, the scene where Peck saves
Miss Bergman from going over a precipice
was done at the studio. A hundred-foot ski
run, sloping at a thirty -five degree angle,
was built inside a sound stage at the Van-
guard studio. Real snow (used to the depth
of approximately twelve inches) was made
by grinding fifty pound chunks of ice in a
machine expressly designed for this pur-
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used, as a complete change of snow had
to be made every hour. For safety's sake,
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122
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AUTOGRAPHS!
Of Bacall and Bogart, Hope and
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other stars. See page 16.
a comforter-covered rope ladder was
stretched taut across the end of the ski
run to stop the stars' descent should Peck
fail to catch Miss Bergman and pull her
down for the scheduled fall.
Ingrid is an expert on skis, but Gregory
had never been on them. Clarita Heath
Reiter, instructor from Sun Valley, was
brought in to teach the actor and to act
as technical advisor on the ski sequences.
... No one but the master of ultra-modern
art, Mr. Dali, could have designed the sets
depicting Gregory's dreams. The artist
made more than a hundred sketches,
besides five oil paintings in black and white.
Some days Dali worked from 8 a.m. to 1 p.m.
scarcely taking time out for meals. . . .
Earl Ray, "breakaway" expert, has a
genuine pride of achievement in having
produced the workable, hollow plaster
statues into which Miss Bergman was
fitted for the scene where she becomes a
faceless statue and flies into thousands of
pieces. The body of the statue, including
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in plaster. Cracks were then scored in the
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Six men worked five weeks to perfect and
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the models had to be molded by sprinkling
layer after layer of thin, wet plaster on
Miss Bergman and the robe she wore, it
was often necessary for her to stand
rigid for as long as two hours at a time.
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(.Continued fram page 30)
brought with him from the Coast had
done a quick vanishing act, and he'd been
lucky to land a barker's job, with no
experience. He thought determinedly, it
isn't acting but it's kind of like it. Work-
ing on a crowd, making them feel things.
It'll be good training.
Probably it was, but it was tough on the
voice. For twelve hours a day, Greg and
the other 'talker' kept up a grind of chat-
ter alternately — a half hour off and a half
hour on. Pay — twenty-five dollars per.
There weren't so many jobs around in
those days. When Greg left the Fair, he
landed one as guide at Radio City and
heaved a sigh of relief. The Peck lecture
technique was a definite novelty, and was
frowned on by the other guides and the
authorities. It was, however, highly pop-
ular with the tourists.
"Listen, these poor jerks are worn out
already from sight-seeing when I get 'em,"
he used to say. "They've seen Grant's
Tomb and the Statue of Liberty and Times
Square, and their feet hurt. They don't
give a damn about statistics, they want
rest and a little entertainment."
This was all well enough, but it wasn't
acting. And Greg had left the University
of California with one firm resolve: To
become an actor. He hadn't had time to
do much about it in college, although he
did take part in a few plays there, and
loved it. But he was working at half a
dozen different jobs to put himself through
college, besides being on the crew and
taking a pre-med course. He and two
other fellows lived in an apartment which
they got free in return for doing janitor
service. One of their duties was to light
the hot water burner in the morning at
six A.M., and when it was Greg's turn he
was quite apt to oversleep and forget it.
Then, come seven o'clock, there would be
irate poundings on the door and shocking
language from the tenants who found their
bath water the approximate temperature
of an Eskimo's backyard.
Another of Gregory's activities was
managing a parking lot on the days when
there were football games. The lot wasn't
in a very good location. But Greg lettered
an enormous sign which said "Parking — $1.
Stadium just over the hill." It neglected
ot mention that "just over the hill" was a
distance of a mile.
Greg paid for his meals by waiting on
table at a sorority house. He didn't think
much of sororities — still doesn't.
"They're snobbish and undemocratic," he
told his best pal firmly. "They line the
girls up at some dizzy tea during 'rushing'
and look 'em all over. The ones that look
expensive are in. Then they pledge the
ones with the best looking legs and the
ones with cars. Fine system."
Gregory had another little racket during
college — inspecting for an automobile in-
surance company. When a man would ask
to have his car insured, Greg would go
out to his place, look the car over, make
a lot of impressive looking notes. At the
end he was supposed to write a short
sketch of the prospective "insuree."
"One guy was very snooty," he remem-
bers. "He acted like a first class jerk. So
did I louse him up! I went back and re-
ported that the place was full of empty
bottles and his breath reeked of whiskey,
and he was shifty-eyed and obviously a
bad financial bet. Presto — no insurance!"
You can see that with all these side
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out a mat with Welcome on it for young
men with no acting experience. It was
while he was working at Radio City that
he heard about the Neighborhood Play-
house. It gave a few scholarships to
promising applicants. So Gregory went
over to see the director and read a couple
of parts for him. The director listened
and nodded.
rhythm boy . . .
"You have a certain amount of dramatic
ability," he said ruminatively. "Now we'll
turn you over to Miss Graham, who will
see if you have rhythm. Rhythm is very
important."
Miss Graham was Martha Graham, the
well-known classic dancer. She looked at
Greg appraisingly. "You're very tall,
aren't you?"
Greg was used to that. He just said
"Yes, ma'am."
"We will try you on rhythm. Go in the
dressing room and put on the shorts you
will find there, please."
Greg emerged in a moment, tall, mus-
cular and Tarzanish in the shorts.
"Now," said Miss Graham firmly. "Leap.
Bound. Run. And roll over."
Greg wasn't happy about it, but he did it.
And apparently he did it with Rhythm.
Because he passed the test, and he got the
scholarship. He took a two-year course
at the Playhouse and did stock in the
summers. After that, came a really mi-
raculous opportunity. A chance to go on
the road with Katharine Cornell's com-
pany of "The Doctor's Dilemma." As it
turned out, this was even more momentous
than Greg thought. At the railroad station
in Philadelphia, their first stop, he noticed
a strikingly pretty little blonde among
the company.
"Who's the blonde dish?" he asked, with
what now seems to him astounding
coolness.
"That's Miss Cornell's hairdresser and
make-up expert," he was told. "Her
name's Greta something-or-other. She's
Finnish. Cute, eh?"
"That," said Mr. Peck, "is the under-
statement of all time." He advanced
toward the pocket edition blonde with
determination in his eye. The determina-
tion got him exactly nowhere — then.
You see, Greta had a mind of her own.
Also a beau of her own. She saw no
point in swapping him for this big Gary
Cooper type, who probably couldn't act
for sour apples. What was he doing in a
Cornell company, when he had never even
been on Broadway? He had a nerve.
it's love, love, love . . .
By the time they reached Boston, she
had changed her mind a little. They had
their first real date in Boston — cocktails at
the Copley Plaza. Gregory volunteered to
tell her fortune.
"Just a way of getting to hold your hand,
my sweet," he confessed airily, later on
in their courtship. "I held it and talked
along, and hadn't the least idea what I
was saying."
"You said I'd marry a tall, dark man."
"And will you?"
Greta wasn't sure yet. Neither, to tell
the truth, was Gregory. It was the first
time he'd ever been really in love, and it
alarmed him.
Gregory had never bothered much about
girls. He was a Senior in High School
before he'd ever had a date. It took him
four months to get up nerve enough to
ask for that one. The girl was very pretty
and very popular. He used to pass her
in the hall at "school a couple of times a
day, and give her a sideways glance from
his dark eyes. After a little, she got so
she glanced back. Then he started grinning
at her — the fascinating Peck grin. She
I smiled. He was, he told himself, Making
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Progress. Came a day when he said "Hi!"
and she came right back with "Hello,
there!" It only took him a month after
that to get to the point where he stopped
her and said, "Look, how about going to
a show with me Friday?" He didn't say
it very distinctly because somehow his
voice had gone way down to his shoes.
Other boys' voices squeaked when they
got nervous. Greg's went very, very
baritone.
"I'd love to go," the girl said, and flut-
tered her eyelashes slightly.
"Will you go dancing with me after
the show?" Greg held his breath. He'd
been taking dancing lessons downtown for
months now, in preparation for this
moment.
"I think that would be divine!" All
girlish enthusiasm.
So everything was set. They couldn't
miss. Greg borrowed his dad's car and
practically polished the paint right off
it. He went over and picked up the girl at
her house. And embarked on the dullest
evening he ever spent in his life.
"I wasn't very sharp with girls at that
point," he admits. "I didn't know how to
make with the talk or even with the
passes. We covered all the people we
knew in the first half hour and then went
on to 'What do you think of our team?'
The show was good, but we didn't laugh
at the same things. And somehow when
we got to dancing, the steps I'd learned
didn't seem to be the ones she knew. I
never asked her for another date, and I
guess that was okay with her."
He got interested in another girl soon
after that, though. She had twelve
brothers, and the first time Greg went to
see her he felt like a murderer facing
twelve jurymen. But he passed their in-
spection, and after that they all had a
pretty good time together.
In college he dated occasionally, but not
seriously. One girl, he always figured,
was a lot like another, and who cared?
But that was B.G.— Before Greta. Now
he suddenly realized that girls weren't in
the least alike, and that one girl could
wrap the world up and tie it with a pink
ribbon just by smiling at you.
You get to know people very well in-
deed on the road. You see them at all
hours of the day and night, under all sorts
of conditions. It's a good proving ground
for matrimony. Greg and Greta got mar-
ried exactly one year and three days after
they first met. Greta's mother sent them
a beautiful handmade lace tablecloth for
a wedding present.
"Isn't it beautiful? It must have taken
her at least three years to make it,"
Greta enthused.
Gregory did a slight double take. "Three
years? Hey, I've only known you for one
year." *
I SAW IT HAPPEN
When Frank Si-
natra was in Cleve-
land, the usual
throng of bobby-
soxers surrounded
him. "Give me a
kiss, Frankie," one
m «s enthusiastic Miss
demanded. "No can
do," he answered.
"Come on, be a
sport, fella — but
looky, if you won't kiss me, how's
about my girl friend, here?"
Without a moment's hesitation, Sin-
atra bent down and gave the girl
friend a loud, resounding kiss.
The girl friend was three years old.
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LIKE YOU SEE IN THE MOVIES
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126
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"Oh, well. She knew I'd marry some-
body!"
sad sacks . . •
That first week of marriage, Greg got
quite a scare. Greta, who was usually the
sunniest, brightest girl in the world, began
to go around like a sad sack, no laughs,
no animation, no nothing. Greg just plain
didn't dare ask her what was wrong — he
thought he knew. He thought "Ye gods!
The girl is sorry she married me!" He
too, began to go around looking very
Gloomy Gus. On, they were a fine pair!
It wasn't till some time later that Greg
found out Greta had had the flu that
week, with a temperature of 103. She
hadn't wanted to worry him, so she stayed
on her feet and kept going somehow. "She
certainly scared the hell out of me in the
process," he says ruefully.
Gregory got a part in a play called
"Morning Star" after the Cornell tour was
over. It was a very English play, with
everyone talking in clipped, British ac-
cents. Greg's part was a big one — Emlyn
Williams had played it in London — and he
was pretty elated about it. "Morning Star"
opened in Philadelphia, and the critics
came, saw and departed to write the worst
notices about Gregory Peck that an actor
ever lived through. They did not mince
words! "They said I was terrible, and they
were right," Greg says. "The show was
to open in Broadway the next week, and
I knew if I got notices like that my first
time in New York, I might as well look
for another profession. So Greta and I
went to work on it. Every night after the
theatre we'd rehearse. I'd play my part,
and Greta would play all the others— in
a clipped, Finnish accent! We kept that
up for a week, and when the play opened
in New York, my notices were okay."
The play closed again in three weeks,
but Greg got another part immediately on
the strength of his performance. It was
opposite Martha Scott in "The Willow
And I." That closed, too. So did the next
one. "Kiss of Death Peck," Gregory began
to call himself, only half kidding. But by
then Hollywood had waked up to the fact
that there was a nice, new, shiny leading
man loose on Broadway — one who could
really act. Greg was signed, and he and
Greta headed for the Coast. His first pic-
ture "Days Of Glory" didn't do too well,
but Peck did fine. For once when Holly-
wood said "Sensational!" they really
meant it. Before Gregory could recover
from his initial surprise, he was cast in
one of the biggest roles of the year, that
of Father Chisholm in "Keys Of The
Kingdom." Next came "Valley Of De-
cision" opposite Greer Garson, and "Spell-
bound" with Ingrid Bergman. His new
picture will be "Duel In The Sun."
house on the range . . .
Hollywood was confusing at first. Act-
ing in front of the camera is different in
so many ways from acting onstage. Then
there was the matter of "rushes." As you
know, they're the straight, undoctored
film of the day's takes. Greg used to go
and look at them with the rest of the cast
and then go home and practically beat his
head against the wall. He was awful, the
picture was awful, the critics in Phila-
delphia had been right! Until one day
Greta said, practically, "Why do you look
at them, Greg? There's no law that says
you have to, is there?" He stared at her
in amazed admiration. There was the
Finnish mind for you, direct and to the
point. He hasn't seen any rushes since,
and he leads a happy life.
He and Greta live in a recently pur-
chased house about five miles from
civilization. They have a handsome son,
named Jonathan, aged six months, who
rules them with an iron hand.
Greg and Greta ride a lot, and swim.
One day he and Greta were riding on
the desert. She had a fast horse, a big,
strapping bay. All of a sudden it shied,
and then was off like an outsize jack-
rabbit. Greg yelled frantically and started
in pursuit, but his horse wasn't fast
enough. Greta, looking tiny and helpless,
disappeared over the hill ahead. By the
time Greg got to its summit, there wasn't
any sign of her. He was almost out of his
mind with worry. For two hours he rode
around, calling her name ("I must hav<
sounded like a tenor singing 'Chloe.' ")
And looking for the body. Until he round
ed a corner and met a station wagon. Jj
it was Greta, with three cowboys.
"Oh, there you are, dear," she called
airily. "My horse took me back to the
stable, and you never showed up. I was!
beginning to worry about you." Women!
Gregory is a fine swimmer. His facility
in that line dates back to a childhood at
La Jolla, California. Greg and the other
boys used to get up at seven every morn-
ing and head right for the beach. Theri
were wonderful caves to play pirate in, am
the water was warm and clear and excit
ing. Their favorite sport *was diving foi
abalone. Abalone is a sort of fish with
hard shell. It fastens on rocks several fee
under water. The kids used to take iron
bars with sharp points, and dive down
and pry the abalone off the rocks. Then
they'd sell them to the butcher for
nickel a pound. One time Gregory go
his fingers caught under an abalone shell
and he'll never forget it. He was ten fee
under water, and he couldn't get loose. He
couldn't do anything, in fact, but hold his
breath till the pressure in his chest felt like
a red-hot iron. At last, one of the boys said
"Old Greg's been down a pretty long time."
And then three of them dived in and at
last managed to pull him loose. To this day
the taste of abalone makes Greg shiver.
Maybe it's because Gregory has worked
at so many different jobs and lived with
so many different kinds of people that he
has such a knack of making friends. He
isn't aggressive about it, but people find
themselves automatically liking this tall
young man with the easy smile. When he
arrived on the set of "Valley Of Decision,"
he was at something of a disadvantage.
The crew was used to having Walter
Pidegon play opposite Greer Garson, and
who was this Peck character anyway? But
Gregory went about his business quietly,
was friendly in an unobtrusive way, and
they began to think he was a pretty good
guy. At the end of the shooting, the crew
presented him with a sports shirt accom-
panied by a fancy poem, which Greg
treasures beyond gold and diamonds,
eight-bailer . . .
There was a little custom that when
anyone made a bad "fluff," he would get a
large eight-ball hung around his neck.
One day Greg started on a scene in the
library. He delivered his lines in his best,
dramatic manner. It was a long speech,
and he felt pleased with the way he was
putting it over. No one interrupted, but
when he got through, there was a dead
silence. Then a member of the crew ap-
proached him and solemnly draped the
eight-ball around his neck. It wasn't unul
that moment that he realized he had de-
livered a speech in the library which
belonged to a scene that took place in the
kitchen a month later.
It was Tay Garnett who christened Greg
"the king-size Sinatra." And presented
him with the loudest, largest bow tie in
existence. But Gregory can't, in all hon-
esty, be tagged with any other name than
his own. He is too definite a personality,
too completely himself. He is Gregory
Peck— and, gosh, who could ask for any-
thing more?
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Wouldn't you like to have that Ivory Look ... to
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hat's My Boy!'' by VAN JOHNSON'S DAD
llodern
creen
• A Mil MAGAZINE '
DELL
• A DEU MAGAZINE •
IT.'
>
I
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Published In
this space
every month
The greatest
star of the
screen I
M-G-M clicks with "The Clock".
★ ★ ★ ★
You'll find Judy Garland and Bob Walker
at their very best. Their very best is
pretty darn good.
★ ★ ★
He's a soldier on leave in
New York — the big city,
strange and bewildering.
She happens to be
hurrying through Penn
Station. They literally
bump into each other.
★ ★ ★ ★
Judy takes Bob in tow —
a sort of one-woman USO
— breaks her dates and —
★ ★ ★ ★
Well, the story that's told through these
two characters is as intimate and gay
a shadow tale as you've ever seen.
★ ★ ★ ★
It's a wonderful forty-eight hours that
screenwriters Robert Nathan and
Joseph Schrank tell in about two.
★ ★ ★ *
Judy is even
better than in
her unforget-
table "Meet
Me In St.
Louis". Bob
is better than
in"Hargrove".
★ ★ * ★
Vincente Minnelli ("St. Louis ' ') directed
"The Clock". It's a sensitive job and
one to be proud of. Ditto, Arthur
Freed— the producer.
★ ★ ★ ★
Besides Judy and Bob, you'll like James
Gleason, Keenan Wynn, and Marshall
Thompson. "The Clock" packs a sock.
★ ★ ★ ★
Some pictures that are coming along
from the world's leading studio should
be noted in your book of early futures.
★ ★ ★ ★
"Ziegfeld Follies" is the biggest, most
beautiful musical ever filmed.
m * ★ ★ ★
"Anchors Aweigh", starring Frank
Sinatra, Gene Kelly, and Kathryn
Grayson, is tops in gaiety and song.
★ ★ ★ ★
Spencer Tracy and Katharine Hepburn
will thrill you in Phillip Barry's comedy
"Without Love".
★ ★ ★ ★
The coming juvenile star is "Butch"
(Jackie) Jenkins of
"NationalVelvet". ,,,, , ,
★ * ★ ★ ,-5r»rY.
We're all set to cele-
brate our 21st birthday. — "
STORIES
* COLOR
PAGES
FEATURES
BEAUTY
FASHION
DEPTS.
modern screen
* JEANNE GRAIN. Life Story
Jeanne didn't have a screen-dream in her heart till a beauty crown
sent her off to tea with Orson Welles and a date with fame 30
*P.S. ON THE PAYNES
Two pages chockfull of color and romance. Mr. and Mrs. Johnny
and Glo— "At Home." . 34
TO THE FANS: GOD BLESS 'EM!
Hedda Hopper hangs orchids (and thistles) on the Hollywood
great. Some of whom forget to remember that there's no such
thing as an actor without an audience — or a star without a fan! .... 3&
LITTLE MISS REMARKABLE
Acting's a wonderful game of "Let's Pretend" to wee Maggie
O'Brien, but once in a while the game gets almost too exciting —
MOTHER AND I REMEMBER
No wonder 20th Century-Fox is celebrating its thirtieth anniversary,
with gals like Betty Grable James around to blow the candles and
Mother Grable to help think of a memory for each year
"JANIE" GETS MARRIED
Modern Screen's Hail and Farewell to Joyce Reynolds. Hail to a
Brand-new Missus, farewell to a star who's leaving us 42
*SO NICE TO COME HOME TO
Sorry, gals, but we gotta Tell All. That though you're positive
that quivery slide in Frankie's voice is for You Alone — well, y'know,
there's always Nancy . . . and Nancy Sandra . . . and Frankie, Jr. 44
♦BLONDE OF THE YEAR
At only nineteen, June Haver's a specialist — at playing Cupid, col-
lecting acres of squushy hearts, washing dishes. At being a very
new and very pink champagne-y starlet . . . 46
♦THAT'S MY BOY!
Van Johnson's dad brings out the family album and shares his
reminiscences. They're intimate memories — memories of a man wil-
ling to share his love with the world as well as his son 48
*ON TOUR WITH SUE AND ALAN
A picture story of the wonderful GIs Laddie and his Sue went out
to meet; the kids with the hands gone or (fee "eyes or the legs —
but never, never the heart 54
*"IF I COULD BE WITH YOU ..."
Betsy Kelly felt like any other girl saying goodbye to her husband,
wondering how long before "So Long" becomes "Hello." 58
38
40
Jeanne Crain in 20th-Fox's "State Fair" 30
John Payne in 20th-Fox's "The Dolly Sisters" and Gloria DeHaven
in M-G-M' s "Between Two Women" 34
Frank Sinatra in M-G-M's "Anchors Aweigh" 44
June Haver in 20th-Fox's "Where Do We Go From Here?" ....... 46
Van Johnson in M-G-M's "Thrill Of A Romance" 48
Alan Load in Paramount's "Salty O'Rourke" 54
Gene Kelly in M-G-M's "Anchors Aweigh" 58
29
Editorial Page
First Aid • 71
Spring Goes To Your Head 46
Modern Screen's Fashion Guide 48
Sweet and Hot by Leonard Feather 6
Co-Ed
12
14
26
60
Movie Reviews
Modern Screen Picture Quiz
Super Coupon
Good News by Louella Parsons
". . . and she can cook, too!"— Marilyn Maxwell 88
COVER: Van Johnson in M-G-M's "Thrill Of A Romance"
KAY HARDY, Hollywood Promotion Manager
Editorial Assistants: Charis Zeigler, Mickey ©hidalia, Marion Dunant
Service Dept.: Ann Ward. Information Desk: Beverly Linet
POSTMASTER- Please send notice on form 3578 and copies returned under
Label Form 3579 to 149 Madison Avenue, New York 16, New York - .-
copy price, 15c in U. S. and Canada. U S. "^^S^^^^^^^tf^pU office, Dunellen, N. J.,
Foreign subscription $2.70 a year Entered as second class mat er Sept. Iff, ™^<£ ^an Francisco, Calif., Dallas,
under Act of March 3, 1879. Add.t.onal sec°"dn[^sr^
JSS^SlSS'^SS^ mT^^ ■ — ■> is • coinddenee-
Trade mark No 301773.
A 48-hour pass.. a lonely soldier. .and a girl in a million!
wo days were all they had...
to make their first date. ..
to hold hands in a taxi...
to kiss in the park . . .
to ride home in the dawn
with the milkman!
-^It's a story as gay as Spring
and as exeiting
as love itself!
"SI LOUIS"
JUDY GARLAND
T.WALKER
JAMES GLEASON • KEENAN WYNN • MARSHALL THOMPSON
Screen Play by Robert Nathan and Joseph Schrank* Directed by VINCENTE MINNELLI • Produced by ARTHUR FREED • An M-G-M Picture
CALIFORNIA DIARY
WEDNESDAY— So this won't be a lone-
some journey after all. As soon as I got
on the train in Chicago today I bumped
into Georgia Gibbs, the CBS thrush, on
her way back West to resume her airings
after an illness in New York.
Georgia and I found an * enthusiasm to
share in Pearl Bailey, a great young singer
formerly with Cootie Williams' band.
Georgia caught her at the Blue Angel night
club in New York and agreed that her com-
bination of good looks, personality and
swell voice, plus a sense of humor, ought to
land her in Hollywood before long.
Also met Jeri Sullavan in the club car;
she's Hollywood-bound for a screen test
having given up her CBS sustaining show.
Jeri told me the long and complicated story
of the origin of "Rum and Coca-Cola,"
which has become a big song hit and bears
her name as part-composer. It's based on a
traditional theme that originated in Trini-
dad. Jeri's happiness is dampened by the
fact that she hasn't recorded the tune herself.
FRIDAY — Hollywood greeted me with a
sunny smile today, despite all my friends'
warnings about the rainy season. My first
evening in town was well spent in a visit
to the "Case O'Bananas" — that's the mu-
sicians' special term for the Casa Manana,
a big ballroom in Culver City. The Johnny
Thompsons drove me out there — Johnny
is Harry James' ace arranger — and we
arrived in time to help the James band cele-
brate its sixth anniversary.
It was good to [Continued on page 116)
It isn't very often that a magazine can lean back, light a stogie, put
its feet on the desk and mutter, "Well, now we've got everything."
As we say, it's not often, but it is done — and MODERN SCREEN
is doing it right now! Recause now we've got Leonard Feather, who's
not only a musician's musician, and a critic's authority, but also a fella
who's just as enthused and just as tickled with really good jazz as you.
So since it'll probably be a few issues before you get to know him per-
sonally, we'd like to give you now a little official data on MS's own
Gentleman of Jazz: Leonard Feather.
He's ass't editor of METRONOME and jazz editor for ESQUIRE as
well as chairman of Esky's annual All-American Concert, one of
which he just ran off in Hollywood. As a matter of fact, that's the
theme of this first column. You've probably heard him em-cee'ing
his own WMCA quiz show, PLATTERRRAINS and his Rlack & White
recordings as pianist and orchestra leader, Dinah Washington, Lena
Home and Dinah Shore have used his original blues numbers and
Lionel Hampton popularized many of Leonard's top tunes.
So, as you can see, we think Leonard's pretty much tops in his
field. We think he's versatile and talented and a very modest minor
genius. We like him and welcome him into the MODERN SCREEN
gang. We're sure you will, too. — THE EDITORS.
Swing got swung good at a terrific 3 confab — Ellington, Leonard Feather, D. Kaye.
That Fighting
LADD
You Love
Is Gunning For
Trouble Again!
mm
Hollywood's most meteoric Star Sensation in his first
rough, tough and terrific role since his screen return . . .
falling for a girl with stars in her eyes while he tames
a man-killing horse and a lady-killing tough guy!
Paramount
Presents
0*
The riotous roughneck of "Going
My Way" as the smartest little
jockey who ever booted home
c winner!
wis i$ me
picture...
for which pro-
ducer Walter
Wanger conducted
his highly publi-
cized, year-long
search for "The Most
Beautiful Girl in the World"
— to portray Salome.
THIS IS
YVOMIEPeCMO
glamorous
American beauty
who was selected
from over 20,000
of the world's
loveliest women
to play the title role.
We predict . .that she will be
the screen sensation of 1945.
THIS IS THE STORY...
of the West's most notorious
town and how it gained its
name . . when the swaying hips
and teasing lips of a woman-
of fire and fame
tamed its boldest
hearts -
challenged its
wildest
excitements !
That green stuff
doesn't grow on trees,
and it's best not
to whip it up in the cellar —
read on for pin money hints
for you pin-up'sters
SEE AD ON OPPOSITE PAGE
CO-ED LETTERBOX
■ Every now and then I have to turn down
a date because I already have one.
(Wheel) It's easy when I know the boy
quite well, but when it's one I've never
dated, I get all fluttery and sputtery and
scare him off for good. How to cope?
Jane C, New Jersey College for Women,
New Brunswick, N. J.
Work up a stock answer,- and when
the occasion arises, you'll be able to rattle
it off with all the poise in the world.
Something like, "Gosh, Bob, you're sweet
to ask me, but I'm busy this Saturday.
Witt you try me again?"
■ All the other gals write asking for ad-
vice on warding off the wolves, but what
I'd like to know is how to egg 'em on.
I have dates fairly often, but it's al-
ways strictly brother-and-sister. I'm pretty
enough and wi tty enough. What do you
suppose is wrong? Daphne H., ' Salem,
Mass.
Don't be alarmed, pet. It's ever so flat-
tering to be dated just for you, instead
of for ivoo. If a boy you really like shows
up, you can easily let him know that an
advance or two {Continued on page 97)
■ There's more on your mind than
bangs and a beanie this spring; wo
know that from your letters, and gosh,
we're awfully proud of you. You're
thinking about college in the Fall; about
shouldering some of the family responsi-
bilities, about preparing for a job. Big
thoughts for little gals! "We've got
big dreams," your letters tell us, "but
it takes money to make them real, and
money's what we're short on. Aside
from printing it in the cellar, how does
one get same?"
Ah, there are ways, gals. We can
think of a dozen ways. So if you're
clamoring for a little independence,
for the wherewithal to buy some high-
voltage summer clothes, for a seashore
vacation, for a ticket to Fort Bragg —
read on.
There's Gardening: You can plant
your own and peddle your produce, or
you might plan and plant gardens for
others. You can only do this, of course,
where the ground has already been
plowed — as in community garden
projects — or in spaces where there has
been a garden before. Five dollars for
a garden fifteen by fifteen isn't a bit
too much. For information, quiz the
garden club or Victory Garden com-
mittee, and drop a quarter on that
wonderful little pocket gardening book.
Once the qarden is under way, you can
offer to take care of it (weeding, water-
ing, harvesting) for a flat monthly
figure of perhaps $7 a month.
There's Errand-running: If you've a
bike, why not hire it and you out to the
local stores three or four days a week
after school? Deliver groceries, drugs,
flowers — and charge fifty cents an hour
for your time. This, plus occasional tips,
snowball into a fat weekly take.
Baby-sitting: If you've a knack for
this you are practically made, finan-
cially. Your family will probably set a
ten o'clock curfew on week nights, and
of course they won't want you "sitting
every night, but even at that you'll mint
money. (Continued on page 77)
JEAN
KINKEAD
The Tale that
Set the West on Fire!
Salome!.. Lure of the West!
Loot of the Lawless!., love prize
of 1000 swaggering gunmen
from Texas to the Rockies.
Walter Wanger
presents-
«* YVONNE DeCARLO £££3* ROD CAMERON • DAVID BRUCE
WALTER SLEZAK ■ ALBERT DEKKER ♦ MARJORIE RAMBEAU • J. EDWARD BROMBERG
and Salome's Seven Ravishing Veils!
Screenplay by Laurence Sfallings . From an original story by Michael J. Phillips
Directed by CHARLES LAMONT Associate Producer, ALEXANDER GOLITZEN Produced by WALTER WANGER A UNIVERSAL PICTURE
OVIE SCOREBOARD
116 pictures rated this month
We're listing just the very topnotch films that we think ought to be on your
"must" list. Ratings are gleaned from our critic and newspaper critics the
country over. means unsurpassed, A^. excellent. ZVz^. very good,
and good. C denotes that the picture's recommended for children.
Movie Rating
Abroad With Two Yanks (United Artists) C 3V2*
Adventures of Mark Twain, The (Warners) C 3' 4*
American Romances (M-G-M) SVi*
And Now Tomorrow (Paramount) 3 +
And The Angels Sins (Paramount) 3' i *
Barbary Coast Gentleman (M-G-M) 3 *
Between Two Worlds (Warners) 3*
Big Bonanza, The (Republic) 3 +
Bis Noise, The (20th Century-Fox) 3*
Bowery to Broadway (Universal) 3 *
Brazil (Republic) 3V2*
Bride by Mistake (RKO) 3*
Candlelight in Algiers (20th Century-Fox) 3*
Can't Help Singing (Universal) 4 +
Canterville Ghost, The (M-G-M) 3V2*
Carolina Blues (Columbia) 3l/2-*r
Casanova Brown (International Pictures) 3 1 2 #
Climax, The (Universal) 3 t*t
Conspirators, The (Warners) 3V2*
Dark Waters (United Artists) 3V2*
Desert Song, The (Warners) C 3*
Destination Tokyo (Warners) 4*
Double Indemnity (Paramount) 4-k
Doushsirls, The (Warners) 3V2*
Dragon Seed (M-G-M) 4*
Enter Arsene Lupin (Universal) 3 *
Pond's "Lips" stay on . . .
and on...
<T-N; , ,
. . . ^
and on !
' 0 The BIG case is only 49c — plus tax
Falcon in Hollywood, The (RKO) 3*
Fishtins Lady, The (20th Century-Fox) 4*
For Whom the Bell Tolls (Paramount) 4*
Frenchman's Creek (Paramount) 3 *
Movie Rating
Kismel (M-G-M) 3V2*
Lake Placid Serenade (Republic) 3*
Lost in a Harem (M-G-M) 3 ★
Main Street After Dark (M-G-M) 3*
Marine Raiders (RKO) 3Vi*
Marriage is a Private Affair (M-G-M).... 3*
Mark of the Whistler, The (Columbia) 3>/2*
Meet Me in St. Louis (M-G-M) C 4*
Minstrel Man (PRO 3*
Mr. SkefRngton (Warners) 3Vi*
Mr. Winkle Goes to War (Columbia) 3*
Music for Millions (M-G-M) 4*
National Velvet (M-G-M) C 4*
No Time For Love (Paramount) V/rk
None But the Lonely Heart (RKO) 4*
Objective Burma (Warners) 4 +
Pearl of Death (Universal) 3*
Pin-Up Girl (20th Century-Fox) 3l/2*
Rainbow, The (Kiev Studios) 4*
Rainbow Island (Paramount) Wzk
Riding High (Paramount) 3*
Roser Touhy, Gangster (20th Century-Fox) 3*
San Diego, I Love You (Universal) 3 *
San Fernando Valley (Republic) C 3l/2*
Secret Command (Columbia) 3 '4 #
Sensations of 1945 (United Artists) 3V2*
Seventh Cross (M-G-M) 4*
Show Business (RKO) 3>/2*
Since You Went Away (United Artists) 3*/2*
Singing Sheriff (Universal) C 3*
Something for the Boys (20th Century-Fox) 3'/2 *
Song of Bernadette (20th Century-Fox) C 4*
Song to Remember, A (Columbia) 3V2 *■
Step Lively (RKO) 3V2*
Story of Dr. Wassell, The (Paramount) 3V2 *
Sunday Dinner for a Soldier (20th Century-Fox) 3 '/■. *
Summer Storm (United Artists) 4 k
Sweet and Lowdown (20th Century-Fox) 3*
Take It Big (Paramount) 3 +
Take It or Leave It (20th Century-Fox) 3*
Tall in the Saddle (Republic) C 3V2*
Thin Man Goes Home, The (MGM) 3 *
Thirty Seconds Over Tokyo (M-G-M) 4*
32 Rue Montmartre (French Films) SVi*
Three is a Family (United Artists) 3 *
Till We Meet Again (Paramount) 3>/2*
Together Again (Columbia) 3 1 /2 -k
Tomorrow The World (United Artists) 4*
Two Girls and a Sailor (M-G-M) 4*
Very Thought of You, The (Warners) 3V2*
West of the Rio Grande (Monogram) C 3*
When Strangers Marry (Monogram) 3*
When the Lights Go on Again (PRC) 3 ★
Where Are Your Children? (Monogram) 3 *
Wilson (20th Century-Fox) 4k
Wing and a Prayer (20th Century-Fox) 3>/2*
Winged Victory (20th Century-Fox) 4*
Woman in the Window (RKO) 3"2*
youth Runs Wild (RKO) 3*
Gang's All Here, The (20th Century-Fox) C 3*
Gaslisht (M-G-M) 4*
Goodnight, Sweetheart (Republic) 3*
Going My Way (Paramount)..... C4-»r-f-
Great Flamarion, The (Republic) 3 *
Greenwich Village (20th Century-Fox) 3' 2 #
Grissly's Millions (Republic) 3*
Hail the Conauering Hero (Paramount) 4*
Hairy Ape, The (United Artists) 3V2*
Heavenly Days (RKO) C 3V2*
Henry Aldrich Plays Cupid (Paramount) C 31 2
Here Come the Co-Eds (Universal) 3 *
Hi, Beautiful (Universal) 3*
Hitler Gang, The (Paramount) 3Vi*
Hollywood Canteen (Warners) 3 *
Hour Before the Dawn, The (Paramount) 3 *
I Love a Mystery (Paramount) 3 *
I Love a Soldier (Paramount) 3*-
Impatient Years, The (Columbia) 3 Vz #
In Old Oklahoma (Republic). C 3*
In Society (Universal) C 3*
In the Meantime, Darling (RKO) 3 *
Invisible Man's Return, The (Universal) 3*
Irish Eyes Arc Smiling (20th Century-Fox) C 3V2*
Janie (Warners) C 3V2*
Jungle Woman (Universal) 3*
with
£a*vd iWe lou^Ks last all 4vf!)
DOLORES MORAN-ALLYN JOSLYN REGINALD GARDINER
GUY KIBBEE JOHN ALEXANDER - Directed by RAOUL WALSH
Sown PUy iy Scm Hillmon W Jumu F. Kern • Based on an Idea by Aubrey Wisher Music by From IVaxman
tUMCetO DIMITRI
ROMANOVSKY
This internationally famous beauty
is the wife of Dlmitri, son of Grand
Duke Alexander of Russia. Until
recently she lived in London— now
resides in the United States.
"In international circles,
charm, good manners and
perfect grooming go
hand in hand," says Princess
Romanovshy. "And nothing
adds so much to the
subtle charm of a woman
as the fragrance she uses. I
use Djer-Kiss perfume
because it is so young, so
enchantingly lovely,
and in such exquisite taste"
Pronounced
"DEAR KISS"
12
THE WORLD'S MOST ROMANTIC SCENT
By<ICs*W&'
By Virginia Wilson
THE AFFAIRS OF SUSAN
■In these days of the man shortage it seems like adding insult to injury to give
us a picture about a girl who has four men in love with her. However, it's a
gay and amusing picture, so come home, Paramount, all is forgiven. Susan is
played by Joan Fontaine, so you're not surprised at the number of men who want
to marry her.
The first man, Richard (Walter Abel), is* the go-getter, business type. He
loves Susan because he thinks she is so patrician. Susan is an actress, and when
she returns from a U.S.O. tour, Richard promptly proposes. Susan, an obliging girl,
says yes. That, Richard soon finds, has always been Susan's trouble. She is forever
getting herself engaged to one man or another. She even got married once. . . .
That was to Roger (George Brent), who fell in love with her because she was
the most naive, innocent and honest girl he had ever met. Roger was a pro-
ducer, and he decided Susan was just the type to play Joan of Arc in his new
show. But after they were married he tried to change all the qualities in her
that he had admired her for. Result: Fights, lots of them. Susan loved a good
fight. Eventually, however, she got tired of battling, and got a Reno divorce.
Then Mike (Don Dafore) entered her life. Mike was a breezy Westerner with
lots of money, who came to New York looking for adventure. Susan represented
Glamor to Mike, and they became engaged. But Roger kept bouncing in and out
of the romance, to Mike's fury. He was wildly jealous because Susan obviously
liked having Roger around. With the episode of the jewelled clip, which you'll
have to see to appreciate, their engagement came to an end.
Then along came Bill (Dennis O'Keefe). If you like the poetic, dreamy type,
Bill is your dish. Susan thought he was hers, until Roger {Continued on page 16)
Susan "(Joan- Fontaine) had 4 men who loved, but couldn't catch her! There was Roger,
blase N. Y. producer whom she married — en route to Reno. And Richard and Mike and Bill
(D. O'Keefe, above). But no matter how fast the fellas chased — there was always Roger
Dorothy McGuire • Robert Young
the Ldytn of "'Claudia" *.
Herbert Marshall
Mildred Natwick • Spring Byington - Hillary Brooke • Richard Gaines.
Directed by John Cromwell • Pnt/ucsd by Harriet Parsons
Streai Pl-ay by DeWitt Bodeen and Herman J. Mankiewicz
R K O
RADIO
f
il./ W on the frUy by Sir Arrhur Wing Pint ro
To Families and Friends of Servicemen: This Is
one o( the films chosen by the War Depart-
ment and provided by the motion picture in-
dustry for showing overseas in combat areas.
Red Cross hospitals and at isoloted outposts.
13
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MODERN SCREEN'S PICTURE QUIZ
You're a never-fail M. S. reader, so go ahead and perfect-score yourself a perfect 12 percent!
Kidding aside, these questions wouJd be tough for anybody not hep to the game, but for
you ... So do try to pick the correct answer from the four suggested beneath each pic. 9-12
denotes a most super info, 6-9 we-e-ell and below 6? Uh-uh. (See page 132 for the answers.)
f/hv.-di
1. Never these twain shall meet, even though
they're:
c. father and son
a. cousins
b. brothers
d. brothers-in-laws
2. These smolderings led up to the famous line:
a. "23, skidoo." c. "It's even better
b. "Wow!" when you help."
d. "Let's go on for ever."
First he sawed her in half, now they're one.
Their youngun's:
a. Prudence Penny
b. Penny Cartwright
c. Rebecca Welles
d. Jennifer Jones
4. Raised on croon and corn, their hearts belong
to Daddy:
a. Van Johnson c. Frank Sinatra
b. Van Heflin d. Bing Crosby
5. Greer started a "flat-top"
a. "Blossoms in
the Dust"
b. "Madame
Curie"
sailor hat vogue in:
c. "Mr. Chips"
d. "Mr. Skeffington"
6. Just back from 4 years ambulance driving in
Britain, her estranged husband's:
a. Claude Rains c. Laurence Olivier
b. Robert Donat d. Leslie Fenton
7. The love bugs of the 30's in:
a. "The Mad World" c. "X Marks The
b. "The Single Sin" Spot"
d. "Change of Heart '
. It's 12 years s nee she played in "Rasputin
with her 2 brothers, now she's:
a. "Ma Mott" c. "Miss Moffat"
b. "The Czarina" d. "The Panther Woman
9. "Now Voyager" got Henreid a boost, got itself
am Oscar for:
a. Best photography c. Most expensive
b. Best dramatic wardrobe
music score d. Longest clinches
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10. In the early '30's, this was known as "It," she
was known as:
a. Vera Vague
b. Hedy Lamarr
c. Clara Bow
d. Barbara Stanwyck
11. England claims him for her greatest Romeo,
Hollywood as its favorite:
a. Hamlet c. Simon Templar
b. Nero Wolf d. Sherlock Holmes
12. You saw right through her in:
a. "Topper Takes a c. "Farewell
Trip"
b. "Ghost Goes West"
My
Lovely"
d. "The Invisible
Woman"
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MOVIE REVIEWS
(Continued from page 12)
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turned up again. That finished Bill. . . .
So now there is Richard and they are
engaged. He wants her to marry him right
away. But hold everything! Here comes
Roger again! — Par.
P. S.
This is based on an original story by
Thomas Monroe titled "The Chameleon"
.... This is Joan Fontaine's first comedy
role and puts her in modern dress for the
first time in her past five pictures. . : . The
outfits are designed by Edith Head. Be-
cause of the story, that of a gal with four
complete character changes, her clothes
had to fit four different types of women.
Joan also has eight completely different
hair-dos in the picture. . . . Don DeFore
was signed to a seven-year contract be-
cause of his performance in this picture. . . .
Costing director Robert Mayo was given
Hollywood's most coveted assignment — that
of finding twelve girls with the most beau-
tiful legs in the world. They were to be
used for the George Brent audition scene.
.... Joan was a prisoner in her Joan of
Arc suit of armor. A clasp became stuck
and it was 90 minutes before prop men
could release her. They used, yep, a can
opener! .... When the picture was com-
pleted, Joan was photographed in her
various characterizations of Susan by four
of the nation's outstanding photographers.
As the intellectual Susan she was "shot" by
Paramount's Whitey Shaffer. As the out-
door girl she was photographed by Paul
Hesse. Henry Waxman pictured her as the
glamorous Susan and Hurrell posed her as
the patrician lady. . . . Coming from retire-
ment on his Arcadia, California, fruit
ranch, David Abel handled the photo-
graphic assignment for the movie itself.
THE PICTURE OF DORIAN
GRAY
Are you looking for something unusual?
Bored with the strictly routine? Then
catch "The Picture Of Dorian Gray." It's
completely different — and completely fas-
cinating. Hurd Hatfield gives a terrifyingly
real performance in the title role, and
George Sanders plays the most cynical
character ever seen on a movie screen.
There is a curious attraction to evil.
Wickedness in itself has the lure of the
forbidden. This is the story of a very
wicked man, but you will find it none the
less interesting for that. The plot has been
changed considerably from the Oscar Wilde
novel, but fortunately the Wilde touch has
been retained in the epigrams which punc-
tuate its dialog.
The history of Dorian Gray begins on a
day when the artist Hallward (Lowell Gil-
more) has just finished his portrait. The
picture is a beautiful thing for Dorian
himself is beautiful with the shining beauty
of youth and purity. But that day he meets
Lord Henry Wotton (George Sanders).
Henry is a brilliant but decadent man, who
expresses his evil ideas with such clever-
ness that they exert a complete influence
on Dorian. The boy is moved by Henry's
admiration of his looks to make a wish. He
wishes that as the years advance, it could
be the portrait which would change instead
of his own face. Impossible? Yes, of
course. But it happens.
Dorian falls in love with a pretty little
singer, (Angela Lansbury), and intends to
marry her, until Henry persuades him
that marriage isn't necessary. The affair
ends in tragedy for Angela, but Dorian,
under Henry's influence, shrugs it off with
callous indifference. Years of dissipation
follow. Strange stories are told in London
about his evil habits, yet suspicion is al-
most allayed by a look at the purity of his
unchanged face. And the portrait is hidden
away . . . until a day when someone sees
it and dies as a result.
When Dorian at last ' finds love with
beautiful Gladys Hallward (Donna Reed)
it is far too late. Heaven and hell have
fought for his soul and heaven has waged
a losing battle.— M-G-M.
P. S.
The portraits of Dorian used in this pic-
ture were painted by the Albright brothers,
Ivan and Malvine. The last, and most hor-
rible of the series of paintings — the canvas
which Dorian rips in rage — took over six
months to paint. . . . Ivan Albright was also
given the job of making the blue clock
(which hangs by the picture) grow gradu-
ally older. For the last scene Ivan took a
hammer and rapped on the clock. The
thing splintered to pieces. Ivan had thought
the timepiece was made of blue enamel, in-
stead it was a porcelain antique — valued at
four hundred dollars. . . . Hurd Hatfield
had to practice for many hours to learn to
stab that penknife into the desk in the
nursery scene where he murders the
painter. When the scene was having its'
dress rehearsal, Hurd let go the knife too
quickly and it flew — point first — toward
director Albert Lewin. "Cut!" yelled
Lewin, "cut and run for your lives!" ....
Hatfield, seated in his dressing room on
the set, was singing "Long Ago and Far
Awaaaaaaaaay" when a sailor passing by
stuck his head through the door, frowned,
and said, "tsk, tsk." "Don't you like my
singing?" asked Hurd. "Naw!" answered
the sailor, walking away. Later that day
Hurd was introduced to the same boy in
gob's uniform — it was Frank Sinatra, there
for a picture! . . . Hatfield (the guy who
came to Hollywood for a week end eight-
een months ago!) has a lot of work to do
in this one. He's in 355 of the 359 scenes —
an unusual amount for a newcomer. . . .
Hurd was dining at Romanoff's one eve-
ning— couldn't stop glancing at the lovely
gal at the next table who seemed to be
continually glancing back. Finally, he
walked over and introduced himself, claim-
ing he was sure he knew her but couldn't
remember when or where. The girl
laughed — "I'm producer Joan Harrison — we
shared space on a page in Vogue Magazine
last month!"
SALTY O'ROURKE
Alan Ladd doesn't look like a tough guy.
He doesn't sound like one, either, with that
nice, quiet voice of his. But give him a
gun and a couple of gangsters to cope with,
and he'll have you shivering in no time.
The way he does in "Salty 0'R°urke"
which is tops in entertainment.
Salty (Alan Ladd) is a racetrack gam-
bler. Not a very desirable character on
the face of it, but somehow he's a swell
person. Take the jam he's in right now.
He's got to pay twenty thousand bucks to
an unpleasant bookie named Baxter (Bruce
Cabot) just because Salty's partner owed
it to him when he died. Baxter is the kind
of guy who means it when he says "Pay
me in thirty days— or else." The "or else"
is conveyed by a small, clicking sound de-
noting sudden death for Salty if the dough
is not forthcoming.
Salty and his trainer, Smitty (William
Demarest) have to do some fast thinking.
LARRY
Screen Play by John Howard Lawson
Directed by ZOLTAN KORDA 1
17
Rhonda Fleming wears
perfume by LYNETTE
741 Fifth Avenue, New York 22, N. Y.
Salty does most of it, since Smitty just isn't
built for thinking. They locate a tough
little jockey named Johnny Cate who has
been barred from every track in the coun-
try. They have him assume the identity of
his seventeen-year-old kid brother. Then
they get a horse named Whipper which can
cover the ground faster than a stolen car.
No jockey but Johnny can ride him, but
with Johnny up he's meek as a lamb. They
enter him in the famous Delington Handi-
cap, and they're all set.
Until Johnny finds out he has to go to
school, since he's supposed to be only
seventeen. He starts by insulting the pretty
teacher, Barbara Brooks (Gail Russell),
then goes on to fall in love with her. Salty
keeps having to straighten things out and
Barbara misunderstands his interest and
falls in love with him. You can't blame her
for that— Salty is a very attractive guy, but
it complicates his plans considerably. Be-
cause Johnny figures Salty is playing him
for a sucker, and proceeds to do the same
for Salty. Meanwhile, Baxter shows up,
and there s a climax which ends in sudden
death. Whose death? See it and find out.
Stanley Clements handles the difficult
role of the little jockey with exceptional
skill. You'll be asking for him again. — Par.
P. S.
Paramount bought this story sight un-
seen! Matter of fact, the idea wasn't even
on paper. It was all in the mind of Milton
Holmes. ... It was a matter of Holmes out-
lining and acting all the parts of the picture
in the DeSylva office — took him an hour
and thirty-five minutes but at the con-
clusion B. G. said, "sold!" . . . This is the
second story which the former extra and
manager of the Beverly Hills tennis club
has written and sold to the studios. The
first was "Mr. Lucky" . . . Paramount bor-
rowed Raoul Walsh from Warner Bros, to
direct. This was his first directional as-
signment off the Warner lot in more than
four years. He was the ideal choice be-
cause he is one of Hollywood's leading
racing sportsmen and has owned several
big-money turf winners. . . . Walsh and
producer E. D. Leshin chose a sorrel named
L'Elegant, a one-time Jock Whitney colt,
for the picture's equine lead "Whipper."
For the racing scenes in the picture, Para-
mount used a string of 50 racehorses rented
from stables in L. A. County and at the
Caliente, Mexico, track. Each horse in the
picture had to have at least one double
and "Whipper" had two. Thoroughbreds
could be run only a limited time during the
course of a shooting day without endanger-
ing their racing usefulness. . . . Real jockeys
were used to- run the bangtails. Twelve
professional riders were employed for the
racing sequences. Several of them, such as
Ralph Neves, were nationally known riders.
. Gail ' was so delighted with the
Dorothy O'Hara-designed gowns (her first
dress-up role) for the picture that she had
the entire wardrobe copied for her personal
use.
COUNTER-ATTACK
Suppose you had eight Germans in a
cellar at the point of your gun. Your in-
structions are to capture officers only, in
an attempt to get information concerning a
coming attack. The soldiers deny that any
of them is an officer but you are convinced
one of them is lying. How can you find out
which one?
That is the problem faced by Kulkov
(Paul Muni), a Russian paratrooper, in
"Counter-Attack." Kulkov is dropped be-
hind the German lines with a detachment
led by Vassilev (Erik Rolf) . They are met
by members of the Underground and led
to the headquarters of the guerrilla fight-
ers. They then attack a factory held by the
19
Hxtvttl^. . . \y\^ ttit Low !
wrestler, is probably the biggest thing in
pictures. Davis is six feet six, and weighs
270 pounds. C. B. DeMille discovered him
at the Olympic Auditorium and gave him
a part in "Reap the Wild Wind." Now Davis
divides his time between the ring and the
screen. He's the giant porter — in case you
have to be told. . . . Return to the screen
for Blanche Ring. Fans of the silent films
may remember Blanche. For the past few
years she's been devoting all her time to
the stage. . . . Charles Brown is one of those
actors who spend six months on the West
Coast making movies then tear back to
N. Y. for a six months engagement. He
was originally brought to Hollywood to
play his part in "Burlesque." . . . One of
the good things that the ill wind of war
blew our way was Lenore Aubert. The
Viennese girl was starting her screen ca-
reer in Austria when Hitler moved in so
she caught the first boat to Hollywood.
HOLD AUTUMN IN YOUR
HAND
This picture comes up with a brand new
starring combination — one you'll see often.
It's Zachary Scott and Betty Field, both of
whom know their way around in front of
a camera. Add a magnificent characteriza-
tion of a shrill -voiced old harridan, by
Beulah Bondi, and you really have some-
thing. "Hold Autumn In Your Hand" is
the story of Sam and Nona Tucker. It is
a story of hardship and toil and poverty—
always poverty. But Sam (Zachary Scott)
and Nona (Betty Field) have a quality you
can't buy with money. That is faith in
themselves and in each other.
Sam gives up his job as a cotton picker
to rent a farm of his own. It isn't much of
a farm, really. The land has lain idle for
three years and is covered with under-
brush. But Sam knows that the earth is
rich beneath it. They take the children
and old Granny (Beulah Bondi) in a truck
with their meager load of possessions.
When they get to the farm they find that
the "house" is just a tumbledown shack,
leaking at every joint. Sam was so inter-
ested in the land that he forgot to investi-
gate the matter of the house when he
rented it. Granny's wails could be heard
for miles when she saw the place!
Their neighbor, Devers, is rich but he
won't even lend them a cup of milk for
little Jot, their small boy. He resents Sam's
youth and hopefulness, and even when Jot
develops the dreaded "spring sickness" or
pellagra, he will do nothing to help them.
"Lots of milk and vegetables," the doctor
says, but where can they get them?
Sam is offered a job in a factory, un-
skilled labor, at seven dollars a day. He
ought to take it, he knows that. It is duty
to his family to take it, and yet the stub-
born core of determination in his heart
says "hang on a little longer." Nona stands
firmly by his side in this. No matter what
happens, she is willing for Sam to stick to
the farm, and she tells Granny so in no
uncertain terms.
Sam's decision is tested by disaster in
every form you can imagine, but he and
Nona never lose faith. It is courage like
theirs which has made America the coun-
try it is— U.A.
P. S.
Eugene Lourie, art director for the
picture, attempted to make his locales au-
thentic. But war-time difficulty in trans-
porting acting and technical crews plus the
fact that the flood scene had to do consid-
erable damage to the land made it impos-
sible. Instead, Lourie found a setting of
cotton field and river in the Madera Valley
in California. The company established
headquarters there for three weeks. There
were other location trips — one to Fire-
baugh, 26 miles from Madera, for the cot-
ton picking scenes in which 175 actual
cotton pickers were used; a week at Lake
Malibu for the Devers' farm; a week in the
San Fernando valley for the town 'and
graveyard sequence; and several days in a
dry riverbed near Universal City for a
muddy road locale. . . . The Special Effects
Department faced a terrific problem in
providing director Renoir with a heavy
rain and electric storm preceding a flood
which devastates the countryside and com-
pletely ruins the cotton crop. Flood back-
grounds were secured by damming the San
Joaquin river to increase the current's fiovi
and by floating down river trees, bits and
pieces of houses, livestock and debris of all
sorts. . . . The Tucker house in the picture
has an interesting background. Renoir and
Lourie found an old barn near Ventura,
bought and dismantled it. They arranged
for rebuilding of it at the studio. The set
was mounted on wheels and carried north
to the Madera Valley for use there and
later it was brought back to Hollywood for
interiors on the sound stage.
PILLOW TO POST
Have you heard the one about the trav-
eling salesman? No, no, this one is differ-
ent. The traveling salesman in this case
is a girl named Jean (Ida Lupino) who
sells oil well supplies for her father. At
least she's supposed to sell them. So far
she hasn't made a sale. She has a good
prospect now, though. Slim Clark (Johnny
Mitchell) who owns an oil company in
Clayfield.
Unfortunately, Clayfield is an Army
town, and there isn't a room to be had,
unless you're an Army wife. Jean isn't any
kind of a wife, but she's got to have a room
AN ADVERTISEMENT OF PEPSI-COLA COMPANY
"Darling, I hope you'll come home on your furlough soon.
I have everything arranged just the way you like it.''''
so she can stay in town long enough to
clinch the sale. She has a date for dinner
with Slim that night, and he obviously
thinks she's quite a dish. If she can only
get a room.
By accident, she hears about one that's
vacant in an auto court. Only you have to
be married to an officer to get it. So Jean
goes out looking for an officer, and even-
tually encounters a Lieutenant, a hand-
some one named Don (William Prince).
She explains to him that if he'll just pre-
tend to be her husband for a few minutes
she can get the room, and he will never
have to see her again. Don would like to
do it — after all, she's a very pretty girl. On
the other hand, the Army views such go-
ings on with a stern and forbidding eye.
Suppose his commanding officer, Colonel
Otley (Sydney Greenstreet) should show
up? "Oh, but he won't!" Jean assures him.
Oh, but he does, and that makes it neces-
sary for them to stay "married."
When Slim shows up for his dinner date
with Jean, he is astounded to find that she
has suddenly acquired a husband. He and
Don don't get along at all, and at the end
of the evening, no large and impressive
order for oil well supplies has materialized.
So Don and Jean go back to the auto court
and their "wedding night." You can imag-
ine some, but not all, of the complications.
The housing shortage has certainly been
God's gift to Hollywood. But even if the
fundamental situation is slightly frayed
around the edges by now, you'll enjoy
"Pillow To Post." Ida Lupino handles the
comedy adroitly. — War.
P. S.
There was almost as much uproar in
connection with the filming of this as
occurs in the script. Ida Lupino was "cap-
tured" by an army of admirers while on
location — was missing for almost a day —
Bill Prince was accidentally locked up in
a steam-bath part of a night — the jitterbug
routine between petite Ida and Johnny
Mitchell was done on one of the hottest
days in the San Fernando Valley history
and left Mitchell (an ex-Montana cow-
puncher) collapsed from the heat — and to
add to the studio headache, 280 pound Syd-
ney Greenstreet discovered tiny motor
scooters the solution to the gas problem!
Then there were a few "minor" incidents
like Ida's car being stolen by an unknown
admirer who thought he might get a date
with her when he returned it; and the
theft of the front door to her home; and a
bathtub skid which left her with a sprained
neck ligament and the memory of a nar-
rowly escaped brain concussion. No sooner
was Ida back to work than Bill Prince was
threatened with appendicitis and had to be
packed in ice in his dressing room between
takes — that was just prior to Greenstreet's
bout with the flu.
Officials were about ready to bill the
picture as "Whew! We Made It!" . . . Since
most of the action took place in a ten unit
auto court and none such was available, art
director Leo Kuter designed one and had it
built on the huge Warner's stage six. Each
of the ten bungalows was a completely
furnished and liveable unit — homeless
waifs among the studio personnel stood
around the stage looking longingly at the
compact little apartments!
KEEP YOUR POWDER DRY
There have undoubtedly been lots of
different reasons for girls joining the WAC.
Patriotism, boredom, yen for a uniform —
any number of others. But here's a new
one. Valerie Parks (Lana Turner) be-
comes a WAC so she can get half a million
dollars.
It's this way. Val is a playgirl. Cham-
pagne, nightclubs, Palm Beach— those are
•far*
f
Time out for 30 seconds—
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24
Tangee
and see how beautiful you can be
the important things to her. The trouble is,
they all take dough, lots of it, and dough is
the thing she is rapidly running out of. Up
in Vermont there is half a million dollars
sitting around in a bank vault, waiting for
the dp.y when the bank trustees decide she
should have it. So far they've held it, be-
cause of her playgirl status. So why not
join the WAC, and convince them she's a
fine specimen of patriotic American wom-
anhood? She can always develop house-
maid's knee, or something, and get out
later.
But once Val is really in the Army, she
likes the darn thing. Of course basic train-
ing is tough. And she makes an enemy the
very first day — a girl named Leigh Rand
(Laraine Day) who is a Colonel's daugh-
ter and thinks she knows the Army cold.
In spite of these disadvantages, Val ' is
happy for the first time. She and Ann
Darrison (Susan Peters) become intimate
friends, with Ann doing her best to keep
peace between Val and Leigh.
It's funny about those two. They're both
clever and attractive and good at every job
they're assigned to, but they just can't get
along. Maybe it's because Leigh is se-
cretly jealous of Val, or maybe it's Val's
quick temper. Anyway, even when they
get to Officers' Candidate School, they are
still rivals and enemies.
Then Val gets in a mess — a bad one. It's
through no fault of her own, but Leigh
can't, or won't, understand that. And it
gives her a hold on Val which threatens
everything the former playgirl now cares
for. It. takes the tragedy of Ann's heart-
break over her husband's death to bring
the two of them together — for the honor of
the Corps.
You'll be fascinated with the way the
inner workings of the WAC are shown in
this picture, And when you see Lana in
her uniform, you'll probably rush right
out and join up yourself. — M-G-M.
P. 8.
WAC Lieutenant Louise V. White was
technical advisor on this. Her greatest
■problem with the forty Ziegfeld Follies
WACs was their hair. WACs aren't per-
mitted to wear their hair below the collars
so the chorus gals had to roll their long
bobs and many of them were constantly
coming unratted. The girls had to line up
each morning in full uniform and stand
for inspection a la regular Army, First
came Lt. White inspecting the hair, then
a man from make-up with a bottle of
polish remover and a rag (WACs must not
wear bright polish) and then a girl from
wardrobe to check stocking seams. Lt.
White was thrilled with the way the girls
did their close order drills — wished that
all WACs might first be precision dancers
in a chorus. . . . The girls found themselves
talking in the slanguage of the WAC before
the picture was half completed. Some of
them even coined new phrases. Lana
Turner's new name for Air Corps pilots
seemed the best of all — she calls 'em "air
males." While the picture was in produc-
tion, Lana got a letter from a company of
Army nurses in New Guinea which told
of the girls' favorite island pastime — swim-
ming in the beautiful blue Pacific waters.
Seems the nurses had only shorts and bras
made of toweling, however. So Lana
shipped a case of the most glamorous bath-
ing suits she could find — one for each'
nurse! . . . Lana has bought half interest
in a song written by Negro singer Bill
Daniels. The song's titled "Mad About
You" and any proceeds to come Lana's
way will go directly into a trust fund for
her small daughter, Cherry. . . . Susan
Peters left on an Eastern business trip at
the completion of her part in the picture —
it was her first glimpse of Chicago and
New York.
Mi:i»\L FOR KENNY
Do you know what a "Paisano"' is? Pai-
sanos are half-Spanish, half-Indian, and
you find a lot of them in California coast
towns. They're indolent and charming and
they never worry about tomorrow as long
as there's a jug of red wine around. Doro-
thy Lamour makes a lovely, voluptuous
Paisano girl, with handsome Arturo De
Cordova playing opposite her.
The principal character in "Medal For
Benny" never appears on the screen at all.
You see, Benny has disappeared from the
town of Pentera before our story opens.
His departure is regretted by the Paisanos
but applauded by the police, with whom he
was usually embroiled. He has left his
father, old Charlie (J. Carroll Naish), no
word of his intentions. Even his sweet-
heart, Lolita (Dorothy Lamour), doesn't
know where he went. Lolita is being
ardently courted by Joe Morales (Arturo
De Cordova), but she assures him that
she will remain faithful to Benny.
Besides, she doesn't think Joe would
make a very good husband, attractive as
he is. Joe is always dreaming up fancy
schemes to make a lot of money without
doing any work. The schemes always fail,
since Joe's ideas aren't very practical. To
Lolita's disgust, he gets old Charlie to in-
vest sixty dollars in a motor launch to use
for fishing. The first time out, the motor
drops right through the boat's rotted bot-
tom, into the blue Pacific.
Joe and Lolita quarrel over this sad
event, and Joe takes out a girl from the
neighboring town. She tells him that she
saw Benny a few months ago, and shows
him a ring Benny gave her. Joe recognizes
it as a ring Lolita gave Benny before he
went away. He reports this to Lolita, and
she is completely disillusioned, and decides
she really loves Joe after all.
The next day a terrific piece of news
hits Pantera. Benny is dead! Not killed in
a barroom brawl, as they might have ex-
pected, but in the Army after disposing of
a hundred Japs. A whole regiment and a
real live General are coming to Pantera
to give old Charlie the posthumously
awarded Congressional Medal. The rest is
pathos and humor and drama, all done with
a subtle touch you will appreciate. — Par.
P. S.
Frank Butler wrote the screen play on
this one, but basic ideas are jrom the
Steinbeck- Jack Wagner twenty "page out-
line. Wagner got the inspiration twenty
years ago when he returned to France and
found his home town of Salinas bursting
a few arteries over its acquisition of a
hero, Sergeant Blank, winner of a Con-
gressional Medal of Honor. . . . Dorothy
Larnour's counting on this as a permanent
release from her sarong. Went about happy
as a lark at her first chance to really act.
She and co-star de Cordova formed a
mutual admiration society on set. ... J.
Carroll Naish, who just about stole the
show, is a one-man stock company thatfs
played more nationalities than any man on
the screen. . . ,. Up came another child
wonder when nine-year-old Fernando Al-
varado had to depend on ability instead of
cuteness. . . . This was Rosita Morena's first
bad girl role. She has a weekly broadcast
to Latin America, by the way. It was her
first English-speaking role in six years. . . .
Three locations did it for this one — the one
at San Fernando Mission and Paducah
Street a la squalid Mexican style gave
Lamour a chance to cuddle Mexican babies
like a veteran office-seeker. The shot of
her playing with a photogenic goat was a
honey. ... At Son Bernardino Air Depot,
Dottie was going strong on assembling lay-
ettes for the enlisted men's crop of gurgling
cherubs.
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FOR FANS
SUPER ★ STAR INFORMATION CHART (10c)
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HOW TO JOIN A FAN CLUB — Have yourself a
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we've listed and get snaps of your favorite star,
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INFORMATION DESK — Answers all your ques-
tions about H'wood, the stars and the movies.
See box on page 71 for details. THIS IS NOT
A CHART.
STAR AUTOGRAPHS — Turn to page 12 to see
how you can get autographs of all your favor-
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CO-ED PERSONAL ADVICE— Want to know how
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26
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ELGIN, ILLINOIS
COMPACTS, CIGARETTE CASES, DRESSER SETS
TO OUR READERS
■ Charles E. Johnson never took a screen test. He never drove a
Lincoln, gave his autograph, nor spent an evening in the Mocambo.
He's just a middle-aged guy who played a great game of ball when
he was younger, worked hard all his life and hates to shave on Sun-
days. He could be your father. Except that he happens to be Van
Johnson's! ... On page 48 Charles E.
Johnson tells the story of how he raised
his son. We believe that it is the finest
story that has ever appeared in Modern
Screen. And I'll tell you why . . . Any
magazine that's worth its salt has to be-
lieve in something. Modern Screen
believes in the dignity and worth of the
American family. Modern Screen be-
lieves also that stars are real people with
real families. Wonderful — but real. Which
goes double* for Van and his dad! . . -
You will read yourself into this story. Like
all American fathers, Van's dad never
made a fuss over his boy. Probably no
one ever caught father and son in a heart
to heart talk. None of the trimmings of
being a parent. But when the time came, when he was left alone with
his boy, he cooked for him. He saw to it that he went to school with
his teeth brushed ... or else. And Van had the best Christmas tree
in town . . . Yes, you will read yourself into the story. And maybe
you will cry a little. / did
Executive Editor
29
Jeanne, the G.l.s' top thrill, hasn't found "The' One" but, aping "Seventh Heaven," calls Lon McCallister. "Chico," is
\
Presenting Jeanne Crain, her /iff and faugh, fier
beauty and yen for books V filings — her fife story.
By Ida Zeifl'm
Jeanne used to think that her sister
Rita was twins. Not twins with Jeanne or with anyone
else. Just twins by herself.
Where the notion came from, she had no idea. Unless
from hearing Mother say, as she frequently did, "I
always wanted twins." That's why Mother dressed them
alike for so long. Till Jeanne, the shy, quiet one, said:
"I think my clothes ought to be different from Rita's."
You could see it was a shock, and Jeanne hastened
to explain. "I'm nineteen months older, Mother. It
makes me feel babyish — " '
"But I didn't know you minded. I thought you
liked it—"
"Oh, I did — when we were little. But now — well, I
think I ought to be myself — "
It kind of broke Mother's heart. Jeanne's red-brown
hair was as blonde as Rita's then, and Mother loved it
when people took them for twins. But she understood
and respected Jeanne's feelings, and that was the end
of dressing alike. Rita was disgusted. Even today she
wouldn't mind dressing like Jeanne.
They were just about as different as sisters could be —
It's Bing for croorrin' and Coleman for swing, tho' she likes her
Cugat, too. While clubbing with Paul Brooks, or other beaux,
likker's taboo! (Time out for Troc'ing, H. James' horn.)
Only beauty tricks are: •) I hours sleep and castor-oil facials.
Hates clowning, loves singing, flannel pajamas, fruit and drawing.
Flabbergasting new poppa Dana Andrews on "State Fair" set.
Jeanne admits expecting to look like Lamarr at rushes atter being "mauled into beauty," is usually
disappointed. Director Cukor once requested her to remove her eyelashes as they were
"photographing too artificially." She couldn't. They were her own! (Grid Queen at Inglewood High.)
Jeanne dreamy and withdrawn, her nose forever in a
book — cocky little Rita, always ready to wrestle with
the world on its own terms. Calling for them at school
one day, Mother found Rita with a dozen girls around
her. Jeanne stood way off by herself under a tree.
Years later, Mother told her about it. "It made me
feel so sad — "
"It didn't have to, Mother. I never felt lonely by
myself."
Yet, for all the difference between them, they were
also as close as sisters can be. From the first, Rita
belonged to Jeanne. "We have a baby sister for you,"
they told her, and she took it literally. When they
brought Rita home from the hospital, she held out her
arms and couldn't understand why her property wasn't
handed over. As the years passed, their relationship
shifted a little. Rita turned protector, worried over
Jeanne's shyness, elected herself buffer between her
gentle sister and any winds that blew. Of course, if she
teased Jeanne to quit reading or drawing for something
more boisterous, that was her privilege. Just so nobody
else tried it. . . -
Her talent for leadership was balanced by an intense
admiration for Jeanne's talents along other lines —
When she was three-and-a-half, Jeanne almost died.
Double pneumonia and empyema kept her in the hos-
pital for four months, and she came out weighing
twenty-eight pounds. To amuse her, Auntie Bee — as she
called her cherished Aunt Elizabeth — taught her to read.
Rita didn't learn to read till she went to school. What
for, when all she had to do was hand Jeanne a book,
and out would come a wonderful story about Jack and
Jane and Terry? Pretty soon Jeanne was reading her
the funnies. And not only that, she could make pictures
of cows and horses and people, even of Rita. And then
one day she wrote a letter to Granny, and put it in an
envelope and addressed it herself —
"Is it good enough for the postman to take?" breathed
Rita. "My, but Jeanne's smart, isn't she? She's so smart
that when she goes to school, I think she'll teach the
teachers — ■"
They lived in a white stucco house in a quiet section
of Los Angeles, called View Park, not far from Ingle-
wood. Jeanne's favorite reading {Continued on page 103)
■ 1 I ' A
nn 1 w nn.nnnn
Pin-up statistics: 114 lbs., 5' 5", curves-^nd "changeable eyes."
From anticipated studies of astronomy, psych., French, she's
shifted to Spanish with a tutor. (At finals for "Camera Queen.")
At 14, Mom used to come on her chatting away with "Margie,"
the little playmate who wasn't there! She soon outgrew fan-
tasy, though, to skip three grades and finish high school at 16.
A sports-proficient sentimentalist, she collects
old-foshioned music boxes and keeps hinting
for a chaise longue. (At a toothless 9 months.)
Still an unspoiled kid, she's irritated by old friends who ex-
pect her to give up studio'ing back and forth in the H.
family car with Mom and to "make like a star." (At 3 yrs.)
"■,4**&-"
— It
33
POST
IPTS
34
PAYNES
First we played
Cupid, then wrote up their
marriage. Now we
bring you our newest Mr.
When not working, Gloria pours John's morning coffee, markets, gives
command performances, and listens to her favorites: Crosby and Sinatra,
El lo Fitzgerald. She's planning a trip East in or.der to meet Ma-in-law.
V Mrs. — in color!
48
John, soon to be seen in "The Dolly Sisters," does
chores in plaids and cords, had Gloria trade her
flossy wardrobe for strictly tailored numbers.
Mrs. P's new title thrills her as much as hubby's
lush diamond pendant gift, chilling to radio thril-
lers. Loves beating poker-sharks Fred MacMurrays.
35
God Bl
ess fem!
You're star-makers and star-
breakers, loyal and brash — H'wood would vanish without you!
■ The other night after a preview I was just getting
my jalopy warmed up in the parking lot at Carthay
Circle, when I spied a mob swirling my way that
looked like Pickett's charge at Gettysburg.
They flowed around parked autos, climbed over
and crawled under, all chasing a tall, tow-headed guy
that I recognized right away. Every now and then
they caught him, engulfed him to a chorus of squeals,
shrieks, shouts and girlish giggles. Then he'd break
away, dodge a few steps closer and get swallowed
again.
I settled back to see the fun. After all, an old gal
like me, I knew, was in no danger from rabid fans.
Not with Van Johnson around!
After a few more scrimmages, Van hopped over
the bumper of my car and into his own, the fans
in hot pursuit. I had to laugh. His tie was gone, his
collar ripped. His coat was buttonless and half off.
Scarlet lipstick streaked his face like a Comanche's
on the warpath. His hair pointed in all directions,
even his hands were scratched and bleeding. He was
dripping with sweat. He looked like he'd just taken
on Notre Dame singlehanded, or got run over by a
Royal Tiger tank. But you {Continued on page 132)
It took veteran Hattie MacDaniel to
overcome pride and prejudice and prove that
great ladies are born, not made!
Clark's recovered trom that cab
kidnapping, notf so his fan rating which
is UUUp. Photog Ball' i ng with Lana;
Local-boy-makes-good D. Morgan was
trapped in a Wis. elevator for 5 trips 'til he
gave with "Desert Song."
37
— r\ ' \ *
James Craig supplanted Bob Young in her affections dur-
ing "Lost Angel." Leaving him broke her heart when she
went off to Wash, for her "March Of Dimes" appeal.
Curious but calm, her only outburst to date stemmed from
Bd. of Ed's edict banning her school attendance. M-G-M
still the storm by providing a private prof, classroom.
■ It was a . high desk. Too high, when you were only
eight years old. Too high, that is, if you sat on a chair.
But if you stood up, in your teddy bear slippers and
your quilted housecoat, it was just the right height for
a drawing board. You put the big empty sheet of paper
on the desk, and you got out the crayons and went to
work with your tongue sticking out a little to help con-
centration.
"Margaret, honey, are you drawing again?"
"Yes, mother." Margaret's big brown eyes were se-
rious. "I'm drawing something very important."
"What is it, honey? Let's see."
"It's a picture of a girl. And this time she's going
to be really beautiful, Mother. You know how it usually
is — the boys I draw all turn out to be pretty and the
girls turn out to look like boys. But this girl is going
to be a — uh — a glamor girl." {Continued on page 98)
M. never sees her own pix — says she knows the plot, so
no suspense, may have her own air show. See her in "FoJ
Our Vines Have Tender Grape§." (Beau Jackie Jenkins.)
38
She couldn't have a pony in the closet or a
whole steak — but who's worried'/ Not Missy O'Brien!
s
1916 — Mother missed'that It, Oomph
gal, Theda Bara, in "Romeo and Juliet" with
Harry Hilliard, but caught her in "A
Fool There Was." With the big rag-and-bone scene
they put on a record of Kipling's poem — -that was
William Fox's idea — and it "wowed" 'em!
"Happy birthday, dear studio,
and I hope you live to a thousand.
I'm proud to be chosen to talk about your
four-star career but there's just one
hitch. My memory's not as old as you! So
where I don't remember, my mother's
kindly helping me out."
M
1917— A Bill Farnum movie meant a big night m St Lou.s-d.nner downtown then
to the Fox in time for the show before the picture. Mother sa« when M.narr Bathsta
wept onto the screen (like here in "Fires Of Consc.ence , the aud.ence went
A-a-al' But Farnum was the main attraction. Lived like a k.ng, now he plays bit*
MOTHER AND I REMEMBER
40
1926 — In "SanJ»," here's where we yelled,
"Watch out, he's behind youl" The man's Ben
Bard, who married Ruth Roland, the serial queen. Lookit
Madge Bellamy's hair-do, will you? And that
casual-on-purpose nude shoulderl Bet they'd
never let me get away with itl
1927 — Bawled so hard over "Seventh Heaven"
got myself all smeared up in my candy bar.
Never missed a Gaynor picture after that. One reason
I hated talkies at first was because they squeezed
Charlie Farrell out. But USN Lieut. Farrell's doing
fine for himself now in the South Pacific.
— How I loved Tom Mix! Saturdays, Mother'd take me
sister to the corner movie — I still remember Tom in "Cupid's
idup." But the minute a kid coughed she'd yank us out. Be-
e my little brother died of whooping cough before I was born.
When a studio like 20-Century's
"been around 30 years, it's time
to pop the wine corks and crow.
Meet your hostess, Betty Grable.
Continued on page I 10
41
Before her marriage, she dated Pvt. Bobbie Breen— whose autograph
she once begged for! She just finished "Junior Miss," the pic S.
Temple was aching to play, still gorges on sweets to up those I 10 lbs.
42
She's just inherited "the $200,000 fortune of her aunt
and uncle, comes into control next year when she's
21. At 24 she'll get late father's Texas oil properties.
As a frosh, Joyce played the title role in UCLA's production
of "Alice In Wonderland." A talent scout spied, signed her.
Says she, "That's 'cause I was the only one zvithout a mask!"
tff Cynthia Miller
"JAMIE" GETS MARRIED
Mebbe she's quit movies and mebbe we'll never
get over it but Joyce Reynolds9 a Mrs. now and oh, such joy!
The home-loving type, she confused execs by asking for a bit
role in "San Antonio" in order to get back home where the
pic's being filmed! Don'tv miss her "Janie Gets Married."
(Editor's Note: Word has just come to us as we go
to press that Joyce is retiring from the screen in order
to care for her health, seriously impaired by that recent
attack of the flu. So while we hate to see you go, good-
bye, Joyce, and good luck.)
■ The telephone rang in the Reynolds' apartment one
afternoon. When Joyce answered, her best friend,
Mary Jane Jensen (wife of Lt. Owen F. Jensen, Jr.)
said, "I hope you don't have a date tonight because
Owen is here from El Toro, and he brought my cousin,
Bob Lewis, with him. Let's go out on a double date."
Joyce had seen pictures of this highly-touted cousin,
and she had heard a dozen stories about him. Ordi-
narily, she would have begged out of a blind date,
but the Lieutenant was from Houston, Joyce's home
town, and you know how it is with Texans — they be-
lieve in one another.
The marine fighter pilot turned out to be even better
than As Advertised. He was tall, curly -haired, with
a terrific drawling sense of humor. After he had
acknowledged his introduction to Joyce's mother and
to Joyce, she said, "Mary Jane tells me that you're
from Houston, too."
"Ah'm just beginnin' to realize how little I saw of
the scenic beauties of mah own home town, since Ah'm
just now meetin' you for the first time," said the
gentleman from the South.
Right off the bat, they discovered that they had one
thing in common: That passionate love of horses that
only a Texan can feel so deeply.
Joyce practically grew up on a horse. Her first, when
she was little more than an infant in San Antonio, was
a plump black-and-white circus pony that would bow,
shake hands and cakewalk. After that she rode a
sorrel gelding, and when she came to Hollywood,
horseless, she managed on (Continued on page 83)
Sfr Nice Tl C(w IIm Tk
■ Last summer, in New York, a group of his advisers
were remonstrating with Frank Sinatra. "But, Frank,
this affair is important. You've got to see these
people."
Frank shook his head. "Fellows, I'm sorry, but I
can't be around tomorrow afternoon. I wish," he
added reasonably, "you had asked me about my plans
before you went ahead and made arrangements."
One of the men said, "We hadn't made any other
dates, so we thought it was all right to go ahead and
promise your time to these people."
"Well, I made a date of my own, and I've got to
keep it. Sorry I can't help you fellows out, though."
There was a little silence during which his friends
exchanged glances. They didn't see what could be as
important as this business conference.
Frank blurted out, "I promised to take Nancy, Jr.
to the circus. She's so excited she hasn't talked about
anything else for weeks. I'm just not going to break
my promise."
Someone said Nancy wouldn't mind going the next
day, or the next. Kids got distracted easily and didn't
remember things like that.
• "I don't know about other kids, but I do know about
Nancy. 1 made her a promise and I'm going to
keep it, regardless of business engagements." And
keep his word to his daughter, he certainly did. And
took her girl friend, Mary Anne, too.
They fed the elephant peanuts; they prowled
through the sideshows to see the fat man, the bearded
lady, the fire-eater and the sword-swallower. They had
a stupendous time. After that, there was the three-
ring main show. Nancy, having a few peanuts left,
fed them to one of the clowns to whom she took a
fancy. She asked her dad why he didn't sing with
the band, and was pleasantly {Continued on page 87)
Nancy, the Sinatra Mom, is moanin
Over unkind rumors that her brief hospital stay was
due to a nose-bobbing, because she rammed into
Dick Powell's parked car during a driving lesson.
Margaret O'Brien, youngest celebrity ever to appear in. "Who's Who,"
partied recently with Nancy, Jr., discussed circuses — and Sinatra! Dad
proved a good sport at that Broadway show when star Lou Holtz called from
stage. "And what business are you in, son?" Next pic: "Anchors Aweigh."
44
■
■
She's pink champagne and dream-
ing by the fire and quicksilver.
She's June Haver.
■ Lieutenant Arnold Von de Lohe, stationed at
Camp Deedrick, Maryland, wrote to LIFE maga-
zine, when it published some pictures of Twen-
tieth Century's dynamic elf, "I want June Haver
for Christmas."
A noble sentiment, but one dispatched without
considering that June Haver on the highest
Christmas tree on the highest mountain on earth
would provoke such a rush as would make a
Grable-Turner-Goddard-Lamarr meeting on the
corner of Hollywood and Vine look like a WCTU,
convention.
Take, for instance, that long-ago Valentine's
BLOINDE OF THE YEAH
June, now in "Where De We Go From Here?", was "farmed
out" to a B'way musical for experience. She almost-steadies
with Bill Eythe, paints, collects figurines— and Sinatra discs.
Day, when June was fifteen. The stampede to
June's house started the instant school was over
for the day. The first boy to arrive parked his
galoshes in the hallway, hung up his lumberjack,
and strolled into the living room bearing a three-
pound pink satin heart of candy under one arm.
June, thrilled to the core, deposited the gift on
the library table, and invited the boy to join her
before the roaring fireplace. Two seconds later
the front door bell rang again. June's mother
answered, and there was Beau No. 2. He shed
his galoshes and coat, and he strolled into the
living room bearing, as token of his esteem, a
five-pound red satin heart filled with candy. He
and the first boy were buddies, so the threesome
before the fire was chummy, and the hot choco-
late that Mrs. Haver had prepared was yummy,
so the afternoon looked very copasetic. Then,
the doorbell rang again.
There will be a brief pause while Mrs. Haver
goes to another closet to secure additional coat
hangers for what is obviously not a committee
meeting of June's admirers, but a full-fledged
convention.
Thirty minutes after the first guest arrived,
there were seven pairs of snow boots in the hall-
way; one hour after the initial gift of a heart box
of candy, there were eleven boxes stacked on the
living room table; and ninety minutes after the
first cup of hot chocalate had been served, the
boy with whom June was supposed to be going
steady, arrived.
He stood irresolute in the hallway, moving a
stricken" glance from {Continued on page 93)
46
The years have dealt gently with Charles Johnson, giving him
long, guiet hours to spend, scissors and paste in hand, with his
many scrapbooks, recollections of a baby son in his heart.
Van Johnson's earliest memories are of a simple frame house
on Ayrault street in Newport, R.I., though it wouldn't have been
home except for Dad — anti-theater at first, but now a loyal fan.
■ My home in Newport, R. L, is unpretentious.
It's just an ordinary tan house, with a comfortable
front porch where you can sit and rock in the
summertime,~and a yard in the back just about big
enough for a gang of kids to swat a ball around in.
Nothing unusual about it except that it was Van
Johnson's house. Still is, for that matter. He
haunts the place, that big kid. I keep tripping over
his ukulele and his megaphone. Every time I open
a closet, a track shoe falls out. Anyway, that house
is Newport's new showplace, and it's a funny thing
— but I kind of like it.
In the old days, when Van and I would watch
the Sunday drivers peering at the big estates, I'd
48
as told to Jean Kinkead
Van Johnson9* pop tooks back and finds the gears
gay and heart-warming with memories of his *'Wled.99
49
feel like shouting right along with him,
"Yaah, rubbernecks!" But now that they're
looking at our house, I feel kind of warm
and proud. Sometimes I want to open the
front door and say, "I'm his dad. Come on
in and look around." And once or twice,
I've done just .that. You ought to see the
way the kids touch his chair and his
books, as if they were solid gold. And
when they ask me about him, their eyes
are so big, and their voices so low. Gosh,
does a fellow's heart good.
People ask me if Van was a good baby.
That beats me. Did any father ever admit
to having a bad baby? Sure, he was good.
And from the very beginning we under-
stood each other. When he was three, his
mother and I separated, and Van stayed
with me. It sort of scared me at first. I
mean, heck, what does a man know about
bringing up a kid? Then my mother came
and lived with us, so that relieved me of
chores like sewing on buttons and stoking
in oatmeal, and left lots of time for picnics
and skating on the little pond near our
house.
You know, there's a rumor around that
I was a terribly strict, long-faced father. A
sourpuss with a switch in one hand and a
copy of the Bible in the other. Maybe the
columnists figure that that "makes a better
story than the truth, I don't know. It
doesn't bother me when I read it because
Van knows how it was and that's all that
really matters. As a matter of fact though,
I was strict about only a few things, and
one of them was that he take care of his
health. I didn't let him eat bags and bags
of candy the way other kids did, and I
made him chew his food well. Then, I
was insistent that he be in bed early every
night. I guess most mothers would die
over this, but I never bundled him up in
the wintertime. He wore warm clothes,
but he never looked stuffed with sweaters
the way so many children do, and he almost
never wore a hat. The result was — and
I'm kind of proud of this— there were lit-
erally years in a row when Van wouldn't
be absent from school. And I really and
truly believe that he wouldn't have pulled
Van started playing the field of hearts early in life. He was just 6 when he
discovered Miss King, the first-grade schoolmarm, and conceived the first of his
many "violent" attachments. (He's the cherub in the back row, 4th from right.)
Despite the "Romeo" tag, he was popular with 'the fellas, captaining -the
basketball team. Now maid Essie's another fan, comes to clean his Brentwood
apt 3 times a week— and make up the twin beds he alternately sleeps in!
50
51
No book worm, he con still qualify as a secy.
ROGERS HIGH SCHOOL
report or JOHNSON, CHARLES V.
SCHOOL YEAR 1032-33
KOOND II* LP
SURJECTS
ENGLISH 3B.-J*
Typewriting 2B. v3
Stenography 2B,-j*
p. H. Drawing 2B.-iii
_ BooWceeplng lA.-atf
DIPLOMA TOtNTS SECURED
One of the many "kid crush" sketches
which papered his walls — Garbo.
Next starrer's "Thrill Of A Romance.
111 m i
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0
Graduation left him free to dabble at short story writing, sketching. He tried
to satisfy his wanderlust by learning foreign cookery and 7 years later, he and most
interesting person" June Havoc bought a sloop while appearing in Pal Joey.
through that accident last year had he not had that won-
derful background of health.
I was strict, too, about honesty, about respect for
older people, about neatness of appearance. For the rest,
I didn't much care. Broken windows, an occasional
fling of playing hookey, stray dogs and cats brought in
to be fed— those were things to be dealt with lightly;
to be chuckled over quietly when he was in bed. I hon-
estly don't think I was strict. Golly, I never spanked
Red once in his whole life. He was my buddy, you see,
and for the most part all it took was a look to straighten
him out.
When anyone asks me whether it was terribly hard
to be both father and mother to the kid, I say, well it
was and it wasn't. Every once in awhile I'd feel kind of
futile and dumb. Like when he started school. I wasn't
sure what kind of clothes the kids wore or anything.
Women know all that stuff instinctively, I guess. It was
so important that he look all right that first day because
youngsters can be so cruel to each other if one of them
is a little bit different. I scrubbed his cheeks and his
ears and slicked down his hair, and told him to put on
his brown pants and sweater. He .had his breakfast and
I took him over to school, standing a minute after the
big front door had swallowed him up. That evening I
asked him how it had gone. "Fine," he said. "Did your
teacher say anything to you?" I asked. "No, dad," he
said. "Are the children nice?" "Sure." I breathed a
great sigh of relief. My son had gone into the world,
had accepted it and had, in turn, been accepted by it.
It was a big thing.
Sometimes on his birthday or on Christmas, I'd wish
I knew more about fixing things sort of fancy, but
we got by. On his birthday, his grandmother would bake
a cake and sometimes the kids would come in, and it
would turn into a party. There were never any of those
big Jack Horner pies in the middle of the table, nor
anyone to play the piano while the youngsters played
musical chairs, no funny hats or paper candy cups. But
they could make noise and sit on all the furniture and
have second and third helpings of soda and ice cream if
they wanted. I guess Van thought his parties were okay.
Dad Johnson once played pro baseball, where
he learned the exercises Van now does to
strengthen those torn right arm muscles.
I never wanted Van to feel that Christmas at our house
was less wonderful than in the houses where there was
a mother and a father. I couldn't have stood that.
Maybe it wasn't quite the same, but our Christmases
were pretty good.
When he was little and still believed in Santa Claus,
I'd pop him into bed right after supper on Christmas
Eve and go to work. First the tree. The very biggest,
fattest tree that our little living room could take care of.
His grandmother and I would string it with popcorn and
cranberries, weigh it down with colored balls and lights,
tinsel and candy canes. It was a tree for children such
as they have in the old country. Nothing sophisticated
about it like the ones you see now that are all silver
and blue lights. I don't suppose it was a very beautiful
tree really, but if you could have seen Van's eyes Christ-
mas morning! Underneath the tree I'd lay a big square
mirror and surround it with mounds of artificial snow.
I'd plant a few little branches of evergreen around to
look like trees, and put little five-and-ten figures of
of skaters on the mirror-lake. [Continued on page 78)
Both Johnsons have worked
these exercisers but note the
tion — 'that pic of papa in the
There's more to this son-dad tie-up than cards or phon-
ing. Van hctes holidays — "They're for families and I'm
always aloi.e." Will it be for long — or for keeps?
53
By \ irginia Wilson
ON TOUR WITH SUE AND ALAN
Those wounded GIs caught some of the
glamour, the warmth of the Ladds, but they never saw the tears.
■ You know how hospital corridors are.
Long and narrow and sort of frightening.
Alan and Sue were used to them by now —
they'd walked through miles of them on
this trip. The corridor in this Army hos-
pital at Walla Walla wasn't any different
from the others. Nurses hurrying by in
white, starched efficiency. A Gray Lady
with an armful of books. A doctor who
waved at them and disappeared. Then all
of a sudden . . .
"Hey, Sue, look out!" Alan called. Be-
cause something was coming up behind
them at a terrific rate of speed. Terrific
anyway, for a hospital. It was a wheel
chair, actually, one of the self-propelling
kind, but you'd have thought it was a
P-38, the way it was zooming along. The
Ladds stepped to one side, and as it
whirled by they saw the triumphant grin
of a' freckle-faced kid in it. He shouted
Hi!" at them nonchalantly, and then
turned the corner and was gone.
"Well, get himV said Alan, laughing.
"The little devil can go faster in that
wheel chair than I could on a motorcycle."
Sue's pretty forehead was puckered in
a frown of recollection. "Alan, I've seen
that boy before. Only I can't remember
where."
Alan thought again of the freckled face
and triumphant grin. The kid had looked
familiar.
"I've got it!" Sue said abruptly. "Re-
member when you were based here in
Walla Walla, while you were in the Army?
Remember the boy we used to come over
and visit in the hospital? The terribly
thin one that was so sick?"
"So sick! He was dying! Everybody
1. The Ladds were among the 35 Hollywood Holl of Famesters invited to
the President's Birthday Ball, who were on the streamliner which chugged
into Wash.'s Union Station 5 hours late, thus making them miss not only
the welcomina ceremonies, but their much-needed rest periods as well
ON TOUR WITH SUE AND ALAN
said so. I'll never forget the way his ribs
stuck out, or the look on his face."
"I know. But this is the same boy."
"It can't be!"
At that moment the wheel chair reap-
peared and descended upon them like* a
runaway tank. Just short of them it
stopped on a dime, and the urchin seated
in it laughed with delighted exuberance.
"Didn't recognize me, I'll bet!" he
said, and puffed out his chest. "I look
some different from last time, hey?"
He certainly did. He looked wonder-
ful. "We're damned glad of it, kid,"
Alan said, and shook hands.
"You know, you and Sue helped a lot."
The boy's blue eyes were serious now.
"Honest, the way you two used to visit
me and kid with me was swell. I sure
did appreciate it. Well — I'll be seeing
you around!" And the -wheel chair
whizzed off.
"Things like that make you feel good,"
Alan says slowly. "Seeing a boy as sick
as that one was, around again. Seeing
the guts he has. The guts they all have."
Everyone who entertains in Army hos-
pitals comes to feel like that, but the
Ladds had a better chance than most to
observe the patients first hand. You see,
Alan and Sue didn't "entertain" in the
sense of singing or dancing or anything
like that. They just went through the
wards and Alan would start on one side
of the room and Sue on the other. Alan
would go up to the first bed and say
"Hello. My name's Ladd. What's yours?"
Sometimes the soldier would recognize
him right away as a movie star. Some-
times not. It didn't matter which to Alan,
because he wasn't there as a star. He
was there as a personal friend, the kind
who drops in to shoot the bull for a few
minutes.
Of course, the fact that he used to be
in the Army himself helped. He spoke
their language, and that's a thing you
can't fake. He knew GI slang, and the
Army routine, and when he said hello
to a boy with one arm he said it in the
same tone he'd {Continued on page 129)
2- After settling the redcap shortage by lugging their own luggage, the whole gang
scooted out to Walter Reed Hospital via a 60-miles-per-hour motor escort. To
cover as many wards as possible, the group broke up into units, chatting, story
swapping, signing, signing, signing autographs — and refusing plentiful GI smokes.
At the Wardman Park Hotel, demands came fast and f.urious-^for his chewed
gum, smdced ciggies, crumpled hankies! "Laddie, who says if folks ask for his auto-
graph, they'll get his, not a rubber stamping, embarrasses easy. Like visiting the
suite of that islew of WAVES — after Sue decided there was safety in- numbers
56
3. Laddie managed those 14 balls (lasting till 4 ayem), by hopping cop-
escorted cabs. At one hotel, he gave with his repertoire — "My Ideal" and
had the gals swooning for more. "But it's the only one I knew," he pro-
tested. "Well," they shouted, "just stand there and let us look at you!'
4. At the star-honoring dinner held at the Mayflower, puckish Danny
Kaye spoon-fed Kay Kyser's Georgia Carroll, just to get the reaction of
the gallery — Alan and Alberto Barreto of Inter-American Affairs. Sue
swears Georgia's one reason she wouldn't let Alan come East alone!
6. White House festivities centered in the East Room where the Roosevelts
charmed the charmers with their simplicity and warmth. Mrs. R. captivated
the Ladds by asking after Alana and grinning when Alan retorted that if the
13 R. grandchildren were anything like The Kid — wow! (See B. Granville?)
7. Swinging homewards, Laddie caught a breather in N. Y. He'd lined
up another month of hospital trekking and rarin' to go again, stopped in
to renew acguaintance with Petie (held by Pop Al). There's no point,
figures the champ, to a short life or a merry one unless you share it!
57
"If I could be with you..."
i
That's baby Kerry on Dad's lap just
after he finished "Anchors Aweigh."
It's rumored that Gene is to be
in Washington for the duration.
By Jeanne Karr
■ Betsy was in New York when Gene gol the
nod from his Uncle Sam.
She'd been expecting it right along. But, like
so many things in life, it happened at the one
moment when she wasn't expecting it. Because
everything had been arranged for Gene to go
overseas and entertain the troops as soon as
he'd finished "Anchors Aweigh." That's why she
was in New York, seeing about a play.
Career vs. marriage had never been a problem
to Betsy. As compared with Gene, the stage
came off a poor second-best. The stage meant
New York. Sbe thought it was horrible to be
in New York when your husband was in Holly-
wood. She'd go even farther — didn't care about
working in Hollywood (Continued on page 123)
Entire family went barefoot the day Gene packed all the famed Kelly shoes for the duration. Gob Kelly
was nabbed by the cops after his induction physical because he cut a corner — not only was he without
o license — but they couldn't recognize him in his old clothes! Lately toured Navy hospitals.
Home with Kerry and a trunk of Gene's dance-battered shoes,
Betsy Kelly dreams of the swellest gob she knows.
59
LOUELLA PARSONS' GOOD NEWS
Laddie croons; twins for
Now that the disheveling "Lost Weekend" is over, Ray's
getting to his barber again. Ginger's been bragging about
that film her Ma had made of all the Rogers-Astaire dances.
the Jess Barkers; Durbin tops
Frankie's Hit Parade!
■ Never got such a turn in my life as I almost did
when I came near to having to explain the facts of
fife to 'teen age Elizabeth Taylor. Perhaps, I should
say, the facts of chipmunk life.
I ran into 'Lizbeth on the M-G-M lot and, of course,
she had that pet chipmunk with her. Can't say I'm
crazy about the little animal, cute as it is. Chipmunks
are too much like rodents to me. But that's beside the
point. The little girl is crazy about her pet, and when
she approached me with an innocent look on her
face, I suspected nothing.
"Miss Parsons," said the little star of 'National
Velvet/ do you know a lady chipmunk from a
gentleman chipmunk?"
Gasping twice, I managed to get out a quick "No"
and wondered whatever made the child want to know.
"A fan wrote me that she has a lady chipmunk
that she would like very much to have marry my
'munk so they could laise a family. But, gee,"
frowned Elizabeth, "I don't know whether I have
a gentleman — or not!"
She doesn't know! Brother!
(Continued on page 62)
Garfield, "mud circuit veteran," has been entertaining at the front with only
short visits home. Shown here with Judy Garland, who's just announced her
ns to marry Ben Vincente Minelli, director of "Meet Me in St. Louis."
Most of F's mail is agent-handled; super-hot
notes get personal answer — from Nancy! That
Lynn orchid's a valentine from B. Walker.
60
HELEN'S RING a beautiful
diamond in a square setting.
The band is platinum
IIKI> \ HA.\DALL of Atlanta
will wed Lt. William C. Shreve of
I tn' >nvy. She In the daughter of
Mr. and Mrn. Luther Hill Randall
of the prominent Georgia family
She lives in a spacious Southern house
with big white pillars across the front!
She looks exactly the way you think a
charming Southern girl should look — very
feminine, very lovely, with a complexion
that's sweet -as -you -please. Another "en-
gaged girl'" Pond's complexion!
"I just depend on Pond's Cold Cream like
anything." Helen says, "it's the grandest
cleaner-upper — and leaves my face with
such a smooth, soft feeling.'
She smooths cool, luscious Pond's Cold
Cream completely over her face and throat
— then pats to soften and release dirt and
make-up. Tissues off.
She rinses with another Pond's creaming
— moving white-coated fingers around in
little creamy whirls. Tissues off.
Use Pond's yourself — every night, every
morning — and for clean-ups in hetween.
You'll love it just as Helen does!
she's lovely:
she uses pond's!
A Jea/ t/ie Pondd Soccep. Beatrice*)
MRS. ERNEST L. BIDDLE — of Philadelphia s Main Line
MRS. GERALDINE SPRECKELS — of the Spreckels of California
LADY STANLEY OF ALDERLEY — internationally famous beauty
MISS CONSTANCE MrCORMICK — of the Chicago McCormicks
MRS. ERNEST DU PONT, JR. — of the great Wilmington family
AT THE BLOOD DONOR CENTER — Helen assists in
making hemoglobin tests. Ever since the war began she
has worked loyally as a Nurse's Aide. There are many
Nurse's Aide duties needing volunteer workers. Ask
your local chapter how you can best serve.
BE SURE TO ASK FOR
the big luxury-size jar with
its wide top that lets you dip
the fingers of both hands in
at once. It gives you such
a nice-to-have lavish feeling!
Get your big jar of Pond's
Cold Cream today.
Today — many more women
use Pond's than any other
face cream at any price
GOOD NEWS
The most thrilled girl in Hollywood is Deanna
Durbin — and no wonder. Frank Sinatra wrote her
a fan letter — or ii it isn't a fan letter, both Deanna
and I will eat our newest chapeaux.
Frankie had just seen, and heard, "Can't Help
Singing" and he wrote Deanna, "I had scheduled
that song of yours and Jerome Kern's, 'More and
More,' for my next broadcast — but after hearing you
sing it, lady, I dropped it like a hot potato. It made
me feel that I want to hear 'more and more' of
Durbin singing it — and 'less and less' of Sinatra!"
Which is certainly mighty modest of Frankie.
* * *
Speaking of letters. Mickey Rooney wrote his Ma
from France: "I'm glad I've seen all the places
I've seen. But I'm so homesick, if I ever get back
to California, you'll never see me East of Hollywood
and Vine. Your loving son. (ex-wanderlust) Mickey."
* * *
Now that the Army has John Hodiak, Ann Baxter's
mother may relent and let the kids set the date for
sometime right after he finishes his training. I hope
so. They are sooooo in looooove.
* * * * ' - \
Glenn Ford's first day back in the movies was
spent back in the Marines! And here's the way it
happened.
Glenn's first picture, after getting out of the
Marines, is "Stolen Life" with Bette Davis. The first
scenes were to be shot on location at Laguna, a lovely
beach spot about five miles from the Marine training
base. Camp Pendleton.
The company was no more than set up for the
first day's work when six or seven young Marines
showed up and perched themselves behind the
camera lines to watch. (Continued on Paoe 64 5
Lena Home, of "Ziegfeld Follies," and one-time chorus girl at Cotton
Club, loves chatter about daughter Gail, 6, who plays house after school
with M.S. photog Gus Gale's kid. (That's Carlton Moss, with Lena.)
62
At "Armed Forces Radio Show," Bing got the laugh from
Dinah when he tripped over cable, fell flat on stage.
Show was so popular B. Hope had Gl's seated on stage.
Cowboy King Roy Rogers rode the table side-saddle in
a radio interview with Paula Stone. Roy has more
than 100 suits and not a tux or pin-stripe among them.
-
Xtvo's company! And jolly company they are, tucked
away beneath their brother and sister North Stars. There's a
pink one for sister, a blue one for brother . . . and twin bathrobes
made of North Star Nocturne fabric.
North Star baby blankets, like the grownups in their family, are
wool to the last fluff. Thev wash and wear, stav soft and snuggl)
Attention: Grandmas, aunts, and fond uncles! It's a lucky, luek)
baby who finds North Stars waiting in his hope chest! And
lucky Daddy and Mommy, ton. who know the solid satis-
faction of a whole wardrobe of North Stars for ever) bed
in the house ... an investment that gives years and vears
of pleasure and comfort.
Settings and nrcessoric*
by Lord & 7 a ^ lt>r
all-
Iris (Pictured) is a
"pocket edition" ol your
standard-size North St.ir
. . . made of the same fine
fleece wool. Soft shades
ot pink and blue or white.
YH Y.V. '. "Sleep, Baby, Sleep" . . . an engaging, informative booklet
on baby's sleep problems, nursery, Iriyrlte. North Star 11 oolcn
Mill Co., 23S South Second Street, Minneapolis 1, Minnesota.
63
GOOD NEWS
"Boys," said Jesse Hibbs, the assistant director, "if
you've come over to see Bette Davis I know she'll be
glad to meet you just as soon as she arrives."
"Well." drawled the Marine spokesman, "we don't
mind meeting Bette. What we really came over for was
to see Glenp Ford. That mug used to be in the Marines
with us — and he told us he was an actor. We've come
over to see if he is any good."
Five minutes later Glenn showed up and there was
a heck of a reunion. But Glenn couldn't work in a
single scene that day. The heckling was terrific from
the sidelines! Every time he tried to make love to
Bette, the Marines let go with a long-drawn out G.I.
whistle. They just "loooved" his studio make-up and
his "dude" clothes. So the director let him go back
to Pendleton and spend the rest of the day with
the boys!
I'm going to take off my hat (the one with the flower
garden on the brim) and doff it to this new crowd of
young glamour girls in Hollywood. Reeently, I attended
a cocktail party where such (Continued on page 71)
The gang held their breath during the Bergman visit to
the Bergen show. 'Cause at rehearsals, Announcer Von Zell
had been saying Ingrid Bcrgan and Edgar Bergman!
Vivian Blaine, the "cherry blonde," and Manny Frank
celebrated their first month as Mr. and Mrs. at the Mo-
cambo. Vivian is in "State Fair" and "Nob Hill."
l
bhirley's penning her autobiography. "My Young Life, "with
the help of Betsy Emmons covering everything up to "Kiss
and Tell." Guesting with George Burns and Gracie Allen.
64
3t Boyd, whose husband is in the U. S. Coast Guard, poses in a room that any young couple would love, featuring Bates' "Cabin in the Pines." This spread also comes in blue or brown on tan
His Dream of Home is Bright and Shining
Ask any soldier. When he dreams of home it's always in terms of
bright, warm colors sharp contrast to the cold khakis and grays
that form his wartime environment. Remember that when your
husband or son is headed homeward. Plan now to refurbish your
house in the refreshing shades that a color-hungry man needs . . .
the gay, cheering colors you'll find in Bates' matching bedspreads
and draperies. Though they represent a minor investment, they
perform major decorating miracles. And they're practical, too . . .
wrinkleproof and easy to launder. Many Bates patterns are unavail-
able now because the fine cotton yarns we use have been largely
allocated to essential war needs. But they'll be back at your favorite
department store as soon as government restrictions are lifted.
BATES FABRICS INC.-80 WORTH STREET-NEW YORK CITY 13
BEDSPREADS WITH MATCHING DRAPERIES
65
By Carol Carter, Beauty Editor
y/y {/art to tjotti /tern/
Sparkling, soft, shimmering, silken . . . the adjectiyes pile up when the
talk is about the tresses of Dolores Moran, Warner pretty. Brush
work helps keep her glossy hair so handsome. Profit by her example!
Read all about it: Carol Carter treats her-
self to a home permanent wave . . . and it's a
great success! She gives lots of hair info. too.
■ "Nothing is as beautiful as Spring," sings
the poet. Lilacs bloom, birds fly, theater man-
agers dust off their cold-air units! You throw
your winter bonnet on the closet shelf, pack
away your babushka . . . and toss your curly
locks in the soft breeze. That is, if your tresses
are as smooth as Dolores Moran's. If not, you
had better get busy bringing a touch of Spring
to your head.
Incidentally, Spring has already crowned my
head with curls. Not that I'm bragging, mind
you. Seems a "hair-care" story was slated but
how could I speak with my own locks straight
and lank? So in the line of duty I gave myself
a home perm. And a great success it is!
The whole job took less than three hours. A
shampoo, of course. Then I reached for the
wave kit, a neat box with a curly-haired blonde
highlighting the cover. In practically no time,
I was as pretty as she ... at least in the coif
department. This kit is supremely complete:
Three ounces of salon-type Cold Wave solution
(I found two-and-a-half ounces enough, but
could be you have heavier hair), a neutralizer
to protect natural luster, plus fifty curlers and
end tissues. There are enough curlers to "do"
the thickest hair and the end tissues catch every
last wisp and help transform it into a smooth
ringlet. Tucked in the kit is a professional
applicator to make moistening uniformly exact.
And did I mention that complete instructions
come with all this wealth?
After moistening my locks with the solution,
I put them up in curlers and end papers. Then
I V-Mailed and read the latest.Hopper and Par-
sons. Next came application of the neutralizer
and, eureka ! a permanent ! I really thought it
only fair to try this before recommending. And
here you have it . . . complete enthusiasm! No
discomfort, no heavy rollers, no heat. No
more guess work — the new formula means soft,
long-lasting curls on any type of hair. No
more budget-bogging {Continued on page 121)
66
I
s
"tyles change in love
and movies. But for 30
years, 20th Century-Fox
has been delivering the
hits to the Movie Fans
of America!
Now, we invite you to
celebrate with us the
climax year of three
decades of history- and -
hit-making.
(H^T^~~. ~"
U VINCENT PRICE
upeckd Br OTTO PREMINGER
(Here
Be"y Smith s
"rr iust a few!)
George Haft . , * :
Vivian hi.,.- . mn Bennt
nob mu ner
When you see this sign . .
spp the picture!
Modern Screen's Fashion Gu
■ Cottons are back again, welcome as V-mail
in your letter box. Welcome as the first sun-
drenched April morning. Welcome indeed.
And if we say so ourselves, the ones we chose
for you are special. Lollipop colors and soft,
blurred shades; lean-making stripes and
certified checks. Slick office-going cottons,
trousseau stuff, school-house glamour. We're
awfully proud of us for finding 'em; you'll
be awfully proud of you, wearing "em. Just
lookit! June Allyson is wearing 'em for you:
she's proud of them, too!
You've Got a Job: Turn up at your desk
looking crisp as a new dollar bill. Easy on
your boss's eyes and disposition ; rough on
the heart of the lovestruck office boy. What
are you wearing? A new butcher linen by
Dorris Varnum of Jonathan Logan. Its coolie
collar, oriental monogram, slim, uncluttered
lines are Chinese as Shanghai, eye-catching
as cute Madam Chiang. An expensively-
detailed little dress that you'll wear and
wear, and it's priced so that you can afford
more than one. Colors from an artist's
palette in rich combinations like turquoise
and brown. The Coolie hat in matching fabric
that June is carrying completes your China-
Girl look.
You've Got a Date: A picnic by a brook
with a long-legged sergeant. The Sunday
afternoon youVe both been dreaming about
for months and months. A couple of new
campaign ribbons on the guy; on the gal
(that's you) an adorable striped Sacson.
Sorry, no picture. No room. Completely
feminine in a very {Continued on page 70)
Look lettuce crisp from job-at-nine to date-for-dinner
inspired butcher linen by Jonathan Logan. June loves
coilar, the tiny sleeves. Coolie hat to match' by Rego
Cotton pickin' season's here, gals! Look, little-money
lovelies — picked for slickness, for glamour, for you!
58
By Jean Kinkead
and Toussia Pines
Lucky boy to be. with you in this irresistible Peggy Paige striped
seersucker! It's got everything! Wide eyelet ruffles to make you
pretty, slimming striped skirt, fresh, scrubbed look — the Works!
• -
Here s a lovely that you can whip up yourself! It's
a MODERN SCREEN PATTERN, easy to get, easy to
make. Make it in Amertex cotton for countless wearings.
June says she feels' like a smoothie in this wing-sleeved spun rayon
by McKettrick Classics! Comfort in its round neck, easy, slim skirt,
button-down front. Mint-julep coolness in frosty white embroidery! 69
N^jkk-ttf Idea,... n Hit
TWO
MAKE YOU TWICE
AS LOVELY
Jergens
Make-up Cake
Matching
Jergens Powder
MOGEN CARPENTER
STARRING IN
BROADWAY'S MUSICAL COMEDY HIT,
"MEXICAN HAYRIDE "
" tergens twin make-up makes you twice as
J lovely as cake make-up alone!" discovers
glamour-wise Imogen Carpenter. How? . . .
First: sponge on new Jergens Make-up Cake,
containing special skin-softening oils. For
smooth and luminous new complexion beauty!
Then t fluff on the matching shade of velvetized
Jergens Powder. For twice the loveliness
... the Broadway-star way !
That's Jergens Twin Make-op — Cake and
matching Powder, both in one box. A $2.00 value
for $1.00.* .. . . get your shade today!
'$2-0 6 yoIul)
MODERN SCREEN
FASHION GOIDE
(Continued from page 69)
JERGENS POWDER "TRY-IT" SIZES, 25?, \0?
*Plus Tax
subtle way with its bow neck, sweet wing
sleeves, pertly cut skirt. The fabric is
waffle pique, which is scarce as a carton
of smokes, and it comes in a delicious
shade of raspberry on white; is terribly
effective in black on white. Price? Cheap.
You've Got a Baby: And next to his
pop he's the handsomest fella! Still you
don't want him getting all the attention
when you wheel him downtown. Give
him a run for his war bonds in the darling
little side-buttoned job shown on page 69.
We love the high sweetheart neckline,
appreciate the big patch pocket that's per-
fect for clothes pins, safety pins, the flot-
sam and jetsam of motherhood. And
you'll love the fly-away shoulder bow!
It's another MODERN SCREEN pattern,
which means it's easy to make and wear,
and it's all yours for a mere twenty cents.
We made it in an Ameritex check, which
would be a swell idea for you, too, 'cause
Ameritex on a cotton means that it won't
shrink, won't fade, will stand up under
hundreds of washings and will always look
terrific! Want the pattern? See below.
You've Got a Crush: You like the way
he smacks a baseball from Ebbets Field
to the Polo Grounds practically; you swoon
over the way the hair grows on the back
of his neck. Briefly, he's strictly slaughter-
house, and half the senior class is mad
for him. Problem: How to get him looking
your way. Best solution we can think of
is our Peggy Paige honey in Dumari seer-
sucker. Irresistible is the swoopy neckline,
the precious eyelet trim on collar, cuffs
and pockets. Head-turning are the con-
trasting stripes, the skirt that's as full as
the law allows — which is full enough for
swish. Here's a dress a guy could love. A
dress he'll love. And you can buy it out
of your allowance, even if it's wee.
You've Got a Trousseau: Lucky you. A
wonderful guy, and a wonderful excuse to
go spreeing. If you've gone a little nuts
over fluffy, bridey things, let us suggest at
least one sleek, clean-cut dress that will
pack and iron like the proverbial hanky.
Such a one is the beautifully simple Mc-
Kettrick (see page 69) that takes to ac-
cessories like nothing on earth. Try it in
lilac with long black gloves, a cartwheel
hat; in luggage spiked with dead white. It's
at home in a club car, at a family dinner,
at a nitery. A lot of dress for under ten
dollars.
Gosh, people, your letters have been
lovely, and you know — it gets easier and
easier to choose clothes for you as we grow
to know you better. You're so nice and
honest about your figure dithers, so cute
about your guys on leave.
A note or a postcard to Fashion Editor,
MODERN SCREEN, 149 Madison Avenue,
New York 16, N. Y., will bring an answer to
every one of your clothes questions. Want
to know the sizes, colors and prices of the
dresses on these pages? Stores at which
you can buy 'em? Anything fashion-y at
all? We couldn't be more anxious to help
you, so let us, won't you, please?
* # * •
Here's how to get that make -it-your self
lovely on page 69. Send 20c to MODERN
SCREEN PATTERN SERVICE, Post Office
Box 224, Station G, New York 19, N. Y.
Comes in sizes 10 through 20. BE SURE
TO INDICATE YOUR SIZE AND ASK
FOR PATTERN NUMBER 1666. Complete
directions for cutting and sewing will be
yours practically by return mail.
GOOD NEWS
(Contintied from page 64)
young girls as Gloria De Haven, June Allyson,
Bonita Granville, Lana Turner and several
others were present.
None of the girls accepted a drink of any-
thing stronger than something ending in "cola"
and yet they gave no indication of being
prudes. In fact, they were far gayer and more
vivacious than some of the ladies present who
were indulging. . -
Maybe it's old-fashioned — or not — but I
noticed that the men liked and admired them
foi it!
June Allyson, who is trying hard to get
her weight up from 98 to 105 pounds, just
laughed when someone told her that a cock-
tail whetted the appetite. "But the 'fat pills'
I take taste better," she chuckled in that husky
voice of hers, "and there's no hangover with
a pill!"
June looked like a debutante in a soft navy
suit with a striped blouse and no hat. When
Norma Shearer came in looking so radiant, so
young and happy with her husband, Lt. Marty
Arrouge, June said:
"There is the perfect example of the way
I want to look. I've seen Miss Shearer often
at parties and in night clubs and I've seldom
seen her drink much, if anything. She's as
beautiful and fresh looking today as she was
when she was eighteen. I'm not a prude. But
I think every drink a girl takes eventually
shows up on the screen!"
As for Gloria De Haven, another gal who
doesn't indulge, her groom, Johnny Payne,
kids her by saying, "She's so definitely on
the wagon she has saddle blisters!"
* * *
Barbara Whiting, who is a ripe 13 years
of age, knocked her teacher cold when she
put the name of Errol Flynn opposite the word,
"virile" in a definition test!
* * *
Hang onto your throb-y notes, Bing and
Frankie. Here comes Alan Ladd as a crooner.
Honest, I mean just that. When he was on
his recent hospital, camp and theater tour,
Alan gave out with "My Ideal" so ideally
that the bobby sockers started writing Para-
mount demanding that he be put in a crooning
picture.
Not that I want to be smart — but the story
didn't surprise me too much. I remember the
very first "press" notice I ever received on
Alan came from the North Hollywood High
School (long before he became a star) listing
his name as the star singer in "The Mikado."
* * *
A man who should know swears up and
down to me that Turhan Bey is really just
SWEET FIFTEEN!
It's coming, pals, and fast!
We're celebrating 15 wonderful
years in June. Pass the word,
then pass your newsstand. It's
MODERN SCREEN on May 11!
Ity Carol Carter
"Help!"
... OmL $A UMl
4^ ^huKkk.
All in fun, Columbia's Penny Singleton
bungles a bandaging job on Arthur Lake. But
for real emergencies, you'll learn First Aid!
■ Don't be a goon! It's the alert citizen who realizes that accidents will
happen. Little brothers do fall out of apple trees, Sis just might drive the
old Ford right through the back of the garage, and even you could burn your
fingers dragging roasted potatoes out of the ashes. All of which can be
pretty grim . . . unless you know First Aid!
It isn't medical treatment. But First Aid does save life, it keeps the victim
comfortable until the M.D. arrives, and prevents further injury (remember
Van Johnson's motor accident?). Every one of us should be prepared to
help on the home front. Have on hand the materials ordinarily needed for
minor accidents. It's a good idea to invest in a civilian First Aid Kit.
There are many excellent kits ... for home, work, school, automobiles, and
soon probably special outfits for helicopters. Check for these supplies:
Adhesive tape, scissors, thermometer, sterilized bandages of assorted sizes,
sterile absorbent cotton, eye dropper, aromatic spirits of ammonia, sodium
bicarb, aspirin, petroleum jelly, ointment or jelly for burns, mild tincture
of iodine and First Aid Book. Kits vary but these are essentials.
Of course, you realize the importance of cleanliness. Never allow anything
that's not utterly sterile to come in contact with a wound. Otherwise, there's
danger of infection. Home-made bandages are simply makeshifts and are
not safe dressings for wounds. Use only sterile gauze, bandages, absorbent
cotton. Dont wash the wound. Sterilize it with iodine or mercurochrome
(except areas near eyes or body openings), then apply a dressing of sterile
gauze. Never touch a wound with your bare fingers. Speaking of cleanli-
ness, learn to use a good disinfectant 'round the house. It's a great ally
when you're warring on germs! For an antiseptic solution to wash the skin
mix two teaspoonfuls of disinfectant with one pint of water. It's that easy.
Believing that you can't be too careful, here's one important warning: //
in doubt, better do nothing than do the wrong thing! Doctors tell me that
good intentions but lack of knowledge often cause more harm than good.
But you really want to help, you say? All right then, buckle down to it.
Learn First Aid from Red Cross, local school or church groups. Have on
hand the First Aid essentials. Be a useful citizen!
says Sad Iron
". . . it's my iron decision that curtains are silly!
Their slow poke-y frills get me shivery, chilly."
But Miss "Sunny Monday is counting on Linit—
The slick, handsome starch that saves many a minute.
And now
"Meet Master Linit.
He's really perfection
To iron— to flatter
a curtain's complexion!
Here's how —
"We wash our curtains
As clean as a breeze-
Then Linit will starch them
with elegant ease.
Quick mix —
'He blends half cupfuls
of water and Linit —
Then adds boiling water—
It's done in a minute!"
Clicks!
Well, do look at Sad Iron,
gay and alive-y!
With Linit his work is so
happy and jive-y!
GOOD NEWS
If you have a Sad Iron
balky at chores-
Get Linit' tomorrow
at all grocery stores.
© Corn Products Sales Company
PERFECT LAUNDRY STARCH
MAKES COTTON 100K AND fEEl UKE LINEN
20 years old in spite of the fact that Turhan
says he is 24!
* ♦ *
The loudest off-screen laugh in Hollywood
belongs to Louise Allbritton. I like Louise. She
has charm and humor. But she should some-
times remember, "A gentle voice is an ex-
cellent thing in a woman."
* * *
Edith Head, Paramount designer, is a brave
woman. She took her life in her hands and
named the seven stars with the most beautiful
curves "between the neckline and the waist."
Dorothy Lamour
Veronica Lake
Ginger Rogers
Ann Sheridan
loan Bennett
Olivia De Havilland
Betty Grable
What? No Lana Turner, Lauren Bacall,
Maria Montez, Paulette Goddard, Linda Darnell
or lane Russell? My goodness!
* • *
This may interest Van Johnson (who seems
to interest everybody!). The little high school
girl who came to my house to give me an
interview on "Why you are the school girls'
dream boy," is getting plenty of plugs from
service men about doing a picture with you.
Remember, Van, after that interview she
dame out to the studio and had her picture
made with you and that story went out all
over the world?
Now many of the boys in the South Pacific
are writing and suggesting that you use your
influence to get her a job in one of your
pictures. In case you want to follow up, her
name is Janice Deisiger and she's a student
at University High School.
• * *
I know my young readers are going to be
sorry that Joyce Reynolds is giving up her
motion picture career. I wanted to get the
real story for you, so I telephoned her mother.
She said, "Joyce had a bad case of flu
brought on when she was making 'Janie' and
she's never really recovered. She is a good
actress and ambitious," her mother said, "but
she feels as I do that we must abide by the
doctors' decision and have her take a long,
long rest." There were reports over Hollywood
that her illness had come following her
marriage, but this her mother vehemently
denied. One thing Joyce won't have to worry
over is salary checks because she is one of
the few heiresses in our midst. She recently in-
herited a sizable sum from her aunt and uncle.
* * *
Laugh of the month: Paul Henreid, who
made his big hit lighting two cigarettes in
love scenes with Bette Davis, was smoking
old stubs on the set of "Spanish Main."
» * •
Wow! Does Dorothy Lamour look sensa-
tional in a champagne net gown on the set of
"Masguerade In Mexico?" Dottie's skin is
made up exactly the same color which means
that you can't tell where the dress leaves off
and Lamour begins — or vice versa. Inciden-
tally, this set, supposed to be a monastery
converted into a millionaire's home, cost
It's a wonder Jenny Jones, steadying with Hejiry Wilson, can stt
after those daily 9 hours of riding and dancing lessons. She's just
taught her sons riding, says gents must be able to seat a horse
The Gregory Pecks stand united on 2 big issues— they love any
and all movies, they're going to play matchmaker between their
6-month-old Jonathan and the Ronald Colman infant, Juliet.
Teresa Wright, (Mrs. N. Busch), about to give her I 1-year-old
stepson, Peter, a new brother or sister, sent Dot McGuire, who
replaced her, conqrats on her work in "Enchanted Cottage."
Janet Blain who drew 2 Hayworth roles while Rita was
"expecting," will annually sponsor any youngster her
ex-voice teacher picks. (With Hubby Sgt. L. Bush.)
73
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You dreamed about it for a long
time before it happened. And then
when it did, you couldn't believe it.
But you did. You heard it, you saw
it; with your very own right hand
on your very own Modern Screen,
you swear it! Well, stop right there.
Get your breath and your money,
too. Just pen and ink it and send
that story of your own encounter
with a screen star to: I Saw It
Happen Editor, MODERN SCREEN,
149 Madison Avenue, New York 16,
N. Y. Remember, make it simple and
clear — an honest description of the
amusing, touching, or dramatic ex-
perience of which you were a part.
If you want to win the five dollars
that we send for every tale printed,
do be sure that you make the celeb-
rity count, not the fact that you just
happened to be there! Good luck!
$97,000. It's made completely of pastel plas-
ter— which is not a priority material.
* • *
Everybody in town who could beg, borrow
or steal tickets went to the Command Per-
formance of Bing Crosby, Bob Hope and Dinah
Shore playing "Dick Tracy" for our boys
overseas.
But what went over the air couldn't have
been half as funny as what couldn't be seen.
Bing had a picture of Bob in the n-u-d-e (taken
one day when he was sun bathing) that he
kept showing to the service men in the front
row. Bob insisted that the picture was his face,
all right — but Bing's bay window! Finally, after
Bing had passed it to the fellas in the front
row. Bob dived right over the footlights to
retrieve it— and the show couldn't go on for
20 minutes.
Later, the three young sailors who had cap-
tured the upsetting photograph came back-
stage and -presented it to Bob. "Thanks, boys,"
he said, "I suppose you are the Andrews
brothers?"
* ♦ *
It was twin boys for Susan Hayward and
Jess Barker. There hasn't been a sign of a
tiff out of them since the good news was
announced. Remember, there were so many
rifts when they first married that Susie actu-
ally filed for a divorce — which was called
off two days later.
But remembering those hectic times, Susie
kids Jess by saying, she'll name the young-
sters, "Bing and Bang!"
* • *
Vignette On Bing Crosby — Man of the
Hour:
He likes you best if you can make him
laugh. Yet he won't laugh at off-color stories.
He's just one beat off being straight-laced —
and admits it.
He seldom calls anyone by a nickname.
Even his crony. Bob Hope, is usually "Robert"
or "Hope" to Bing.
His appetite is a see-saw affair. He likes
ice cream cones and caviar equally well.
He can't stand to live by a clock. When the
twins were born and two weeks later, Dixie
was ready to come home from the hospital,
Bing kept her waiting two hours because he
said he wasn't wearing a watch "and it didn't
—
look like four o'clock!"
There's a wall of reserve around him that
sometimes even those closest to him cannot
penetrate. This has led some people to think
he is cold. He isn't. It's just that there is a
certain part of Bing that belongs to Bing
alone. Perhaps it is a sanctuary he must have
in the gold fish bowl where he lives with
the world looking in.
He is deeply religious— but can't talk
about it.
He dresses like a racetrack tout.
He is one of the richest men in Hollywood
and thinks anybody is a fool who loses over
five dollars in a card game.
But the real test is that he is a grander
guy now — when he is completely on top —
than he has been in his whole life.
* * ♦
Jennifer Jones took a smart wardrobe
with her to Arizona for "Duel In The Sun."
No, she won't wear it in the picture because
she plays a native girl. But for off-screen wear
she selected some honeys. I happened to run
into her the day she was shopping in Beverly
Hills and among other things, she selected:
A pink gabardine suit with a candy-stripe-
tie and the new tight, wide cuffs.
A Mexican slack suit with black trousers,
tomato-red jacket with black sombreros em-
broidered all over the coat.
A pale green linen dinner dress with a white
coat trimmed with little "lettuce" buttons.
(Jennifer looked like a nice, crisp green salad
in this).
The only hat she bought was a big sun-
flower yellow straw to keep off the Arizona
"tan" while she's making the picture.
* * »
If Richard Jaeckle doesn't get back from
overseas soon, he'll find his pretty mother is
stealing the acting honors in the family.
Millicent, as everyone (including her son)
calls her, starred in a Los Angeles show called
"Let's Marry" and plenty of movie scouts were
in the audience looking her over. And I don't
mean for mother roles, either.
DON'T BLUSH, BUT—
We'd like to sort of slip this in
when you're not looking, jor you
may have heard it all before, and,
well, everybody's busy — you just
haven't had time to do anything
about it! Anyway, that Nurse's Aide
uniform may be getting the finishing
touches on your ironing board right
now. Or perhaps you're doubling up
with that part-time nurse to care
for Dad at home, / 'stead of claiming
a hospital bed. Golly, maybe you're
even marching of} as a registered
nurse to the boys who see halos
when you help 'em!
On the other hand, we'd like this
in big, bright letters as bold as the
Red Cross symbol itself, just in case
you don't know that 1945's first crop
of Yanks-to-go-over got a raw deal
— eleven units went overseas without
enough nurses! And don't think we're
exaggerating — 10,000 nurses are
needed now! So do what you can,
whether you play the "extra" in your
neighborhood hospital or a stellar
role at the front. Your Red Cross is
waiting — and so are your boys!
LARAINE DAY, STARRING IN M G M S "KEEP YOUR POWDER DRY"
Another Hollywood Star.. .with
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And only Woodbury has "Stericin",
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protect against blemish-causing germs.
For new beauty, try Complete Beauty
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75
those Q
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hair with Kreml Shampoo.
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INFORMATION DESK
(Questions of the Month)
By Beverly Linet
Hi, gang:
I've been seein' stars, and the funny
part of it is that no one hit me,
either! Seems everywhere I go . . .
bang . . . there are my favorite peo-
ple. Ran smack into Gene Kelly with
Nancy Walker coca-colaing at the
Lincoln Grill . ., . and less then ten
minutes before that I was charmed
by darlin' little Margaret O'Brien
who was delighting audiences on the
Kate Smith broadcast together with
Lee Bowman and Janet Blair. And
not more than two weeks after that
noticed Bacall and Bogart stopping
traffic on 5th Avenue. And best of
all, Laddie and Milton Berle kid-
ding each other to death on the
latter' s program. Know what all this
Stardust meant to me, though? Just a
chance to get some new and exclusive
info, for YOU. And did I? Wow!
So if there is anything you want to
know about your favorite pic or per-
sonality . . . I'm glued to my desk
waiting to tell. Direct your letters and
stamped, self-addressed envelopes to
Beverly Linet, INFORMATION
DESK, MODERN SCREEN, 149
Madison Avenue, New York City 16.
By the by, this is what is known
officially as a retraction. Actually, it
gives me much joy to announce that
contrary to what I said in my Feb-
ruary column, the theme music you
kept hearing in "Laura" was written
especially for that pic by swell musi-
cian David Raskin and has just been
released as a pop tune with out-of-
this-world lyrics by Johnny Mercer.
Betty Paris, N.Y.C.: IS THERE
A FAN CLUB FOR MARK
DANIELS WHO WAS "ALAN" IN
"WINGED VICTORY," AND GUY
MADISON, THE SAILOR, OF
"SINCE YOU WENT AWAY?" Uh-
huh — Doris Brown, 628 West 151st
Street, New York City, has Mark's
club, and Dorothy Nachman, 1445
Mintord Place, Bronx, N. Y. has
^Miriam Armstrong, Newark: SOME
STATISTICS ON BOB MITCHUM
WHO PLAYED "BOB GREY" IN.
"THIRTY SECONDS OVER
TOKYO" AND "JIMMY" IN "THE
GIRL RUSH." Bob was born m
Delaware on Aug. 6, 1917. He has
light brown hair, grey eyes and is
6', 185 lbs. of handsomeness. Yup,
he is married and has two children.
Write him tor a picture at United
Artists, Hollywood, Calif., and watch
for him in "G.I. Joe."
Irene Cunningham, Chicago:
WHAT WERE THE SONGS
SUSANNA FOSTER SANG IN
"THE CLIMAX?" They were — "The
Magic Voice," and "Someday I'll
Know," from the operetta "The Magic
Voice," written for the picture by
George Waggner, and "Now At Lasf
from the operetta, "The Boule-
vardier." .3
Don Wade, N. Y .: DID CORNEL
WILDE REALLY PLAY THE
PIANO IN "SONG TO REMEM-
BER?" Nope — that was Jose Iturbi
at the keys, and for a special treat
watch this space next month when I
will list the entire score from that pic-
tU C B • MAY I HAVE FRANK
SINATRA'S BIRTHDATE? Sur^
thing . . . December 12, 1917.
CO-ED
(Continued from page 8)
Friday and Saturday nights, the lid is usually
off, and you'll most likely be allowed to stay out
lateish, provided the people for whom you sit
convoy you home. If you're really money-mad,
offer to do the dishes and mending for addi-
tional dough. Rates for straight sitting vary
in different localities from thirty-five to fifty
cents an hour. If you throw in extras, you
should get anywhere from fifty to seventy-five
cents an hour.
Other ideas: Is there a war plant near you?
Why not look into an after-school shift? How
about Thursday nights and all day Saturdays in
a nearby department store? If you're sharp
with a Corona you might do typing at home.
Sell news items to the local paper or high-
pressure them into letting you do a column of
school scoops. Knit sweaters to order for
sweater gals from six weeks on. Are you too,
too bright in French or math? Spread some of
your brains around for a nominal fee. Bathe
dogs, do marketing, paint furniture — there's no
end to the things you can do and the green
stuff you can earn.
The way to get started is to run a standing
ad in your town paper itemizing your services
and giving your rates and phone number. Then
equip yourself with a good-sized date book, a
couple .of pencils — and, say, move over Mr.
Rockefeller!
// you're woosy-witted deciding which
college or wtich job or which guy, give us
the facts and let us help. Unsnagging your
dilemmas is our business, you know, and
honest to John, we love it. For a strictly-
between us reply, send a stamped, self-
addressed envelope to Jean Kinkead,
MODERN SCREEN, 149 Madison Avenue,
Ne-iv York 16 N. Y. If the whole world can
know, skip the envelope and we'll print the
answer in our mail box.
BELITA, STARRING IN MONOGRAM'S "GOLDEN Gl
I SAW IT HAPPEN
One windy day while visiting the
observation platform at La Guardia
Field, I noticed a group of teen-agers
around one of the exit gates. When I
asked the reason for this gathering, I
was told that Tyrone Power was due
on the next plane. At the edge of the
crowd was a young girl, much shorter
than all the rest. She tried in vain
to get a place where she could see her
hero to advantage, but the taller fans
wouldn't budge an inch. Due to a
high wind, the plane was overdue,
and when it finally arrived the girls
could hardly wait. The tiny girl, still
unable to find a place where she could
see, had disappointedly started to
leave. As she walked slowly along,
she saw a man's hat being bufeted
along in the brisk wind. Off she went,
chasing it with all her might, and for-
getting her keen disappointment in
her breathless run.
Finally, a tired and windblown little
girl turned up at the office, hat in
hand. A young man came up to her
and smilingly asked, "May I have my
hat, please?" The girl was speechless
with delight. It was Ty Power, her
idol, and his charming wife, Anna-
bella, whom she surely never expected
to see — actually talking to her!
Margaret Becker,
Corona, New York
you: Can I have such soft hands, Belita?
belita: Indeed you can! Just use Jergens Lotion.
you: Is Jergens really your hand care, Belita?
belita: I've used Jergens Lotion for years.
Here's Why, 7 to 1, Hollywood Stars Use Jergens Lotion
Helps protect against rough hands so surely!
Jergens Lotion wheedles even gratey skin to softness
with 2 ingredients many doctors prescribe.
So it's like professional hand care. And easy!
No stickiness! 10^ to $1.00, plus tax.
FOR THE SOFTEST,
ADORABLE HANDS USE
JERGENS LOTION
After removing polish . . . round
nails, with emery board, to oval
shape — never point! Never file
down into corners. Good strong
corners near fingertips help pre-
vent breaking and splitting.
. . . After soaking fingertips in
warm, soapy water — scrub with
nail brush. Tear an absorbent
Sitroux Tissue in quarters. Wrap
tip of orange-stick in one quarter
— push back cuticle gently. Use
another quarter Sitroux Tissue
for left hand. ( Remember — never
waste precious Sitroux Tissues ! * )
... If nails are small, cover entire
nail ... if long, leave half-moon,
small tip. Remove excess polish
with remaining half . of Sitroux
Tissue. To hurry drying, run cold
water over nails. Keep Sitroux
Tissues handy for cleansing and
dozens of other jobs, too.
^^^^^BP-*"^ faced v/ith
* Tissue m^^^and production
roW medial shortages doing our
Acuities • • • bu, ,W* with as man/
level best to supply y° And( llke
SUroux Tissues « P°s J> ^ b
aU others vre are d ^ under
THAT'S MY BOY!
(Continued from page 53)
TISSUES
Then we'd fill his stocking and, invari-
ably, my mother would fill one with coal.
That was her Christmas joke. You see,
in Sweden, the naughty children find coal
in their stocking on Christmas morning
instead of goodies. We would fill another
one too, of course, with fruits and newly-
baked Christmas cookies; with marbles
and a rubber ball and a top and all the
small things that little boys love so much.
Then we would stack his gifts around
the tree.
big moment ...
He would be up at dawn Christmas
morning. I'd hear him padding around
his room, then pussy-footing through the
dining room, then standing stock-still,
and I'd know he was looking into the
living room. We'd get up then, and
he would open his gifts and produce
things for us that he'd made in school.
A paper Christmas bell it was one year,
I remember. And once he bought me a
bright red tie. I don't exactly recall just
when he stopped believing in Santa Claus,
but I know that one year I came home
from work and he had the tree up and
the little mirror all arranged exactly as
I always did it. When he saw me, he
stood up, and we sort of looked at each
other and didn't say anything. That was
another big moment.
Right through those younger years he'd
bring his report card home to me every
month to be signed, and it was invariably
a thing of beauty. 98's and 99's and Ex-
cellent in Effort. I got to thinking I had
a genius on my- hands and it worried me.
Who the heck wanted a genius? "Look,
Red," I'd say. "Let's skip the books to-
night. Let's go to a show." I needn't have
worried. In due time, came Boy Scouts,
came athletics, came girls. By the time he
was in high school he had more on his
mind than studying and he was bringing
home C's pretty regularly. I felt better.
It was along about then that he began
to be interested in movie stars. He started
out drawing their pictures (did you know
Red's an artist of sorts? ) , and pasting them
all over his walls. I used to look in there
and think, "Well, that new one or Garbo
does it. He can't possibly squeeze in any
more." And be-gosh, the next day he'd
have five or six brand new ones up. Who
were they all? Greta Garbo, Joan Craw
ford, Marlene Dietrich. Oh, and Norm
Shearer. He used to think she was swell
He had scrapbooks full of them too, an
the Lord help anyone who laid a hand o
them!
We both liked the movies and Frida
nights we'd go. Me, I'd like to see the
picture and get out. Not Van. He'd si
through it twice every time. Ask him ho
he could enjoy it when he knew every
thing that was going to happen, and he
shrug those big shoulders and say, "Gosh
I don't know. I like it even better th
FREE OFFER!
We just love to give presents! Look what we've got for you this month! A copy
of either SCREEN ROMANCES or SCREEN ALBUM— free, for nothin'— just for
filling out the Questionnaire below and whipping it off to us quick like a bunny.
Both these mags are terrific — full of pics of the stars, stories, fun! But we have
only 500 of them — so hurry, hurry, hurry! Send in your answers no later than
the 20th of April.
QUESTIONNAIRE
What stories and features did you enjoy most in our May issue? Write 1, 2, 3
at the right of your 1st, 2nd and 3rd choices.
Little Miss Remarkable
So Nice to Come Home To
(Frank Sinatra) □
To the Fans: God Bless 'Em!
(Hedda Hopper) □
That's My Boy! (Van Johnson)
"If I Could Be With You . . ."
(Gene Kelly) □
Jeanne Crain, Life Story □
Janie Gets Married
( Joyce Reynolds) □
Which of the above did you like LEAST?
What 3 stars would you like to read about in future issues? List them 1, 2, 3 in
the order of preference -
( Margaret O'Brien) □
Blonde of the Year _
(June Haver) □
P.S. on the Paynes
(Payne-DeHaven) □
On Tour vAth Sue and Alan
(Mr. and Mrs. Alan Ladd) □
Mother and I Remember
(Betty Grable) □
Good News by Louella Parsons
What are your 3 favorite dance bands? List them 1, 2, 3 in order of preference.
My name is
My address is
I am years old.
ADDRESS THIS TO: POLL DEPT., MODERN SCREEN
149 MADSSON AVENUE, NEW YORK 16. N. Y.
Paper-picker! You wouldn't think, to look at her, that Mary
had just collected more waste paper than any child in town!
Paper which our Government needs so desperately. Now
Mary is floating off to a well-earned sleep . . . supremely re-
laxed on the cushioned luxury of Beau tyrest— the dream
mattress. (Made, of course, by Simmons.) If you own a
Beautyrest today, count yourself lucky. For Beautyrest
boasts 837 individually pocketed coils and a sag-proof
border. Cherish your Beautyrest, for we're all out on war
work and there's no telling when you can buy another. If
you need a new mattress now, however, we suggest our fa-
mous WHITE KNIGHT. It'sa"mattress-within-a-mattress:'
Soft, durable— with layer upon layer of fine, resilient cotton!
NEWS! The Government has permitted us to make a
limited number of Beautyrest Box Springs. $39.50 each.
BEAUTYREST- The World's Most Comfortable Mattress!
P. S. BUY EXTRA WAR BONDS THIS WEEK! THE NEED GROWS EVER GREATER!
HANDY ADVICE ^ ARLENE FRANCIS
"So make sure you have soft, smooth Hinds hands,"
says Arlene Francis, star of Hinds "BLIND DATE"
MONDAY NIGHTS -BLUE NETWORK
WHEN YOUR HEART STANDS STILL...
when you find yourself looking into the eyes
of the man you've been waiting for all your
life . . . make sure that your hands as well as
your eyes say "Remember me." They will
if they're adorably Hinds-soft and smooth!
"AS SMOOTH AS A DOVE'S WING
. . . he'll think when he clasps your soft
hand. And you'll think how wise you've
been, using Hinds regularly. Wonder-
ful, softening, soothing Hinds that
doesn't let roughness get a look-in!
YOUR HANDS MAKE ROMANTIC MAGIC
because in Hinds Honey & Almond
Fragrance Cream are ingredients for
which science says skin has a particular
liking . . . Try Hinds. See the thrilling
way chapped, rough hands respond.
THE FACTS BEHIND HINDS CLAIMS
• When winter has played havoc with your
hands . . . dried or chapped the skin by in-
terfering with the flow of its natural lubricant
oils,Hinds Honey & Almond Fragrance Cream
comes to the rescue in a big way. Its special
ingredients supply the lubrication your skin
may lack. Get Hinds at any toilet-goods
counter. 10«S, 25<J, 50tf, and $1, plus tax.
Copyright. 1945. by
Lena & Fink Products
Corporation,
Bloomfield, N. J.
HINDS A HANDS
his wonderful housekeeper. He is very
happy, I think, except that now and then
he gets homesick for the East. For the
changing seasons he loved so well. For
snow. They had a Christmas pageant in
Hollywood in which they blew tons of
white cornflakes into the air to simulate
a snowstorm. "It hurt my eyes, it was
so phony," he wrote me, "and I had to
look away."
Someday when he's really well again
he'll come East. They wouldn't let him
make the trip for the premiere of "Thirty
Seconds over Tokyo" for fear the excite-
ment wouldn't be good. But each month
he's better. The awful incessant headache
is going away. His blood count is up
again, and he can give blood to the Red
Cross bank once more. He'll come East
again, and his room is waiting for him.
His whole elephant collection is there in
his room, his diploma hanging on the
wall, his rowing machine and his bar-
bells, just where he left them. And his
Dad is waiting too, anxious for a good
look at that long, red-headed kid every-
body's talking about.
r,;-
I SAW IT HAPPEN
Chicago, the windy
City? Migosh, I felt
like a ping-pong
ball with the dfs!
And if you're won-
dering what brung
Beverly Linet there,
rest easy — 'twas Lon
McCallister! Yup.
Y'see, kids, Lon and
I had become really
good friends during
the years I've been dishing the dirt at
the Information Desk, and somehow
there it was, the week before Christ-
mas, and I'd been talking to him long
distance and before I knew it, it was
Chicago, I was there, he was there —
and my heart stood still.
I hit town about ten in the morning,
kissed my uncle and aunt and pro-
ceeded to call Lon at one hour inter-
vals until I finally corralled him at
midnight. Seems he'd been shuttling
between performances of "Winged
Victory" and Christmas shopping and
hadn't gotten one of my messages! We
gabbed for a while then he said,
"Watcha doing tomorrow?" I fluttered,
casual like, "Oh, nothing. Nothing
really important, that is." So he said,
"Would you like to take in a preview
of 'The Glass Menagerie,' the new
Eddie Dowling show?"
Well, that started it. The pink-
champagne, life' s-a-pretzel feeling.
There was meeting Barry Nelson and
Dick Travis. "Entertaining" Lon at my
aunt's luncheon by leading him, in my
confusion, into the master bedroom.
Guzzling Pepsis at the Chez Paris and
malts at Walgreen's and basking in
Lon's reflected glory down Michigan
Boulevard and signing autographs with
him and . . .
Well, it's all over now but the sigh-
ing, with very little energy left and
buckets of memories. Funny ones, gay
ones, stand-out ones, like rushing for
a last goodbye^ at Lon's theater with
15 minutes to train time and another
week of talk still unspoken. And . . .
Oh, well . . .
Beverly Linet,
Modern Screen.
JANIE GETS MARRIED
(Continued from page 43)
several week ends to get to Caliente to see
the racing. A Warners' Studio official,
meeting Joyce on the lot one Monday
morning, asked, "Did you have fun in
Caliente yesterday?"
Joyce's brown eyes snapped a pair of
startled shutters. "I didn't see you," she
said.
"I didn't see you, either," grinned the
official. "But I heard you when your horse
won the third race."
She confided to Bob that first evening,
"As soon as I can afford it, and when I
have a place to keep him, I'm going to buy
a palomino."
"For me," announced Bob, "a Texas cow
pony every time."
"Speaking of transportation," said the
Jensens wearily, "you two horsey folks
might think up a way for us to get to the
movies. We're out of gas. And there just
aren't any cabs."
"Shucks, let's be practical," said Bob.
"What's wrong with thumbing?" The very
first car stopped, collected the quartet and
took them to a movie several miles east.
There they saw (spying on another studio's
product), RKO's thriller, "The Fallen
Sparrow."
"A four feather picture," applauded Bob.
They had little thin hotcakes and coffee
in Pancake Alley (at La Brea and Wil-
shire), then hitchhiked back to Westwood
Village.
Reporting the details of the evening to
her mother as Joyce brushed her hair that
night, Miss Reynolds decided that here was
something very special in the date-able
line. She merely told her mother, "Mary
Jane's cousin is a right sweet boy." That's
the way they say it down Texas way, chil-
lun.
morgenthau vs. cupid . . .
Two weeks later (as soon as Bob could
get leave again) he returned to Los
Angeles for another Saturday night date.
In the meantime, he had seen Joyce in "The
Constant Nymph" and had discussed the
problem of properly entertaining an actress
with some allegedly informed brother
officers. He had also developed a consum-
ing mterest in publications in which pic-
tures of or articles about Miss Reynolds
might appear. Lacing through such pages,
like hand picking on the lapels of a good
suit, was the word Mocambo, repeated and
repeated.
"I'd like to take you," he told Joyce after
greetings were exchanged, "to the Mocam-
bo."
if Joyce had been a squealer, she would
have uttered a hoot audible in Kansas City.
Being the quiet type, she twinkled and
said, "Mmmm. Wonderful."
A year ago, Joyce was as celebrity con-
scious as your 12-year-old sister. When
Lana Turner arrived at the Mocambo,
gorgeous in a long black dress — her hair
covered by a net of pink flowers — Joyce
tugged at Bob's sleeve and joined him in
appearing NOT to be staring, while trying
to memorize Miss Turner's every charm.
Altogether it was a lovely evening . . .
until the check arrived. By that time,
Joyce and Bob had been joined by two
friends, whom Bob had invited to have din-
ner with them. He had planned on spend-
ing between twenty and twenty-five dollars
on the evening — which is purple plutocracy
on a Lieutenant's pay — but when he turned
over that crucial oblong of cardboard, he
thought for an agonized moment that they
had simply charged him the financial total
of his serial number. Well, not quite that
bad.
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However, a quick mental inventory con-
vinced him that he was several, yea many,
dollars short. Giving his brother officer
the eye, Bob & Co. withdrew to the
Gentlemen's Lounge for a Morgenthau
meeting. "Gosh," gloomed the man on
whose ducats Bob had been counting,
"we've done the town. I was going to ask
you for a short term loan."
So they returned to the table, wondering
how KP was going to seem, so many
months after boot camp. Bob took Joyce
out on the dance floor, wondered if his
face was going to set fire to the joint, and
asked if she had — er — come equipped with
any mad money. "Because you're going to
be mad at me in a minute."
Joyce happened to have nearly ten dol-
lars in her evening purse.
On the way home, a certain Marine
Lieutenant, feeling very nonplussed, still
couldn't help laughing. "I think I lost forty
pounds, sweating that one out," he said.
"Will you ever take a chance and go out
with me again?"
Joyce had been suppressing hysterics.
"I've never told anyone else this story, and
I wouldn't tell now except that I think you
have a right to know. Maybe you think
you were embarrassed tonight; wait until
you hear about my most embarrassing
moment."
It happened when Joyce was a sub-sub-
deb. She was invited to a supremely
swanky party in one of the most beautiful
homes in Houston. Although Joyce knew
her young hostess very well, she had never
met the hostess' father or mother. So, the
night of the party, Miss Reynolds — gowned
out in a new party dress, her hair done
a new way, and her escort the current
cream of her dreams — arrived on the door-
step of a mansion she had long admired
from a distance.
She rang the doorbell and a tall, distin-
guished-appearing man answered. In her
best Manners for Adults, she said, "Good
evening, Mr. So & So. I should like you to
know Mr. Et Cetera (her boy friend)."
Gravely, the boy shook hands with an
immaculate white glove proffered by the
tall character who took the boy's top coat
and Joyce's wrap and said that dancing
was in the ball room, refreshments in the
solarium.
The Personification of Dignity was the
butler.
"Talk about embarrassment. I wanted to
crumple up and blow away like ash from
a good cigar," bemoaned Joyce.
Bob looked down at her and grinned.
"Thanks," he said, taking her hand.
"Thanks for being such a swell sport . . .1
and telling me that to make me feel
better."
After that, every week that Bob could
possibly get away, he and Joyce had a
date. Because they both were crazy about
Spanish food they found a small cafe called
"El Carmine" where they could have Satur-
day night dinner. The cafe is hung with
serapes, the music is completely South of
the Border, and the tostados, tortillos, en-
chiladas, and tacos are the best to be found.
One night Joyce wore her new fur coat.
"It's the one thing that I always said I
was going to buy the instant I could afford
it," she told a chuckling Bob. "Maybe yo-
think it's silly, but that's the way I am.
get something in my mind, and I pi
and figure, and plot until I can make th
dream come true."
"I don't think it's silly," said Bob in
tone far more serious than Joyce had ever
heard. "You're lucky that you can make
your dreams come true so fast. Some of
us have to, well, sort of postpone things."
"Oh sure," she said blithely, not scruti-
nizing that statement, but simply accepting
it at face value as small talk.
good luck, god-speed . .
Whenever they could, they spent an
evening at Cocoanut Grove, dancing to
Freddy Martin's orchestra. If you want
that out-of-this world look to cross Joyce's
face, just put on a recording of Martin's
version of Tschaikowsky's Concerto.
And then, as Joyce had known it must,
the wonderful week end dates came to
an end. She promised that she would write
at least once a week. And she said that
last night, "You'll be fine, I know. I have
confidence in you. But . . . sort of be care-
ful, won't you?"
He had left a package marked "Do Not
Open Until Christmas." Which proves that
Bob still had something to learn about his
brown-eyed Texas Tomato. She can't leave
packages alone. The next day she flirted
a quick eye over the strings and calculated
that by slipping a little here, a little
there . . .
"Joyce — you leave that package alone.
Don't you go spoiling Bob's surprise weeks
and weeks before Christmas."
"All right, Mother."
Two days later. "Mother, er — what be-
came of my package from Bob?"
"Never you mind. That is to be opened
at Christmas time."
Then there came the day when no letter
had arrived from the South Pacific for
nearly three weeks. Joyce was sick with
worry. "Why don't you open your Christ-
mas package?" Mrs. Reynolds suggested.
"That will make you feel better."
So, three weeks before Christmas, Joyce
lifted the lid of a jeweler's box to reveal a
large gold cross. She strung it on a black
velvet ribbon and even wore it to bed that
night. The next morning there was an air
mail letter beginning, "Well, as you have
probably guessed, I have been pretty busy
around here. ..."
Instead of writing once a week, Joyce
began to write three and four times a
week. And she could hear the postman
coming four blocks down the street; he
seldom disappointed Joyce — usually there
was a letter.
In some of those letters, Bob wrote about
a possible post-war future. He had been
in the midst of his pre-medic work at Rice
Institute in Houston when war broke out
and he joined up. He said that he rather
thought he'd like to go back, some day,
finish his studies, take his internship, and
practice. "Because a man can live such a
useful life in that profession. After having
seen so much destruction, I'd like to work
in a constructive field."
Late in the summer of 1944 there was
another interruption in the mail service.
Joyce began to count days in hours, and
weeks in minutes. Her mathematical cal-
culations were growing astronomical when
That Letter finally arrived. Snatching it
out of the postbox, she ran upstairs. Mrs.
Reynolds came into the living room to find
her daughter crying. "Baby ... is it bad
news?"
"I d-d-don't know yet. I haven't read
the letter," said a logical Miss Reynolds.
remote control romance . . .
No, the news was NOT bad. First,
Bob told about having seen "Janie" at
his South Pacific base. It was an-
nounced over the loud speaker that, in
the audience, was a prominent buzz boy
who would be very happy, indeed, to
see "Janie." The loud speaker suggest-
ed that Lt. Bob Lewis stand up and take
a bow, on account of being Joyce Rey-
nolds' fiance. He went on to explain
that — although he was being kidded at
the time — the title was one that ap-
pealed to him mightily. Furthermore,
he was being sent back to The States,
and when he arrived. . . .
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And so they were married in the West-
wood Community Methodist Church on
January 11, 1945. The Reverend Herman
N. Beimfohr performed the double ring
ceremony; matron of honor was Mary Jane
Jensen, of course, and best man was Lt.
George A. Baldwin, one of Bob's Marine
Corps buddies.
Joyce wore a gold suit, very simple, very
smart, with black accessories. Just before
the ceremony she received an heirloom
handkerchief from Bob's mother — "some-
thing old" to fulfill the requirements of
tradition. She borrowed a blue garter from
her matron of honor, and practically every
other item of bridal equipment was new.
So far the newlyweds have only two
problems to solve. First, Joyce must be
restrained from picking up some of her
husband's more colorful expressions. Hav-
ing learned, in Texas and in the South
Pacific, some highly seasoned Spanish ex-
pressions, the lieutenant was horrified one
morning to hear his wife using the terms
he had tossed off in a moment of exaspera-
tion when the car refused to start. Joyce
had started a run in a stocking and deemed
the situation appropriate for some of her
new vocabulary. "EEk! Don't eveRRRRR
say that," gulped the bilingual Bob.
"You said it. I think it's pretty."
"Look, honey. Nix. Nix. Nix."
''What does it mean, Bob?"
. "We haven't been married long enough
for me to explain to you. Just skip any-
thing I say in Spanish."
And their other problem is that cwazy
character, Gammie. Gammie is about 22
ounces of grey, curly-haired toy French
poodle. He was purchased with the first
thirty-five dollars that Joyce ever earned,
and he was named by Charles Boyer.
"Gammie" is short for "gamin" — French
for urchin, which Gammie certainly is.
He decided the first time he set eyes on
Bob that here was a menace to his being
monarch of the Reynolds menage and re-
sented it at the top of his pipsqueak lungs.
Bob, who thinks nothing lighter than a St.
Bernard can be classed as a dog, looked
down disdainfully at this canine caniption.
Then he picked Gammie up and regarded
him sternly. Gammie blinked hopefully,
then tentatively tried to lick Bob's hand.
Peace negotiations are continuing but they
weren't furthered by Gammie 's completely
destroying one of Bob's sox and ruining
a high mirror polish on -Bob's regulation
shoes.
Observed Bob, "I won't feel like a bona
fide member of this family until Gammie
greets me with a wag instead of a bark,"
but the look he bestowed upon his wife
marked the statement as pure platitude.
VERSATILE V NECK DICKEY
86
I SAW IT HAPPEN
Outside of the
CBS Playhouse one
afternoon, I noticed
a crowd clustered
around a figure in
a very bright plaid
sport coat. After
quite a struggle, I
reached the inner
circle of the specta-
tors. Since I stood
in back of the ce-
lebrity, who was busily signing auto-
graphs, it was impossible to see who
it was. Turning to the person next
to me, I said, "Nobody but Crosby
could wear a coat like that and get
away with it." The sport-coated figure
turned, and I found myself looking
into the dancing blue eyes of Frank
Sinatra as he shouted, "Oh yeah!"
Bill Brennan,
Everett, Washington
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(Continued jrom page 45)
amused when he said the band didn't
want him. That, she couldn't imagine.
dusty daddy . . .
Finally, the trio started homeward, dusty,
bedraggled, tired, but blissfully happy.
When Frank opened the door of the suite
he, Nancy, Sr. and Nancy, Jr. were
occupying, there sat the entire business
conference, patiently awaiting Frank's
return. The business conference, consist-
ing of the biggest big-wigs from the Max
Factor Company which sponsors Frank's
Wednesday night radio show, as one
Adam's apple, swallowed hard. The busi-
ness conference, as one giant caterpillar,
raised its eyebrows.
For Frank, Nancy, and Mary Anne each
carried a huge balloon in one hand and
a white cornucopia of pink cotton candy
in the other. Each face shone with summer
perspiration, and each chin was gaily
bearded with remnants of the cotton candy.
"Nancy and Mary Anne," said Mr. Sin-
atra with supreme dignity, "I want you
to meet some friends of mine." And he
introduced the little girls around the circle.
Then he excused himself, took a quick
shower, and returned to the business
conference.
In years to come, when she grows old
enough to realize the extent of her father's
fame, the things that Nancy Sinatra most
cherishes will be memories of circus visits,
movie treats, and holidays spent with
Frank. She is now only four and one -half,
but when she is forty-four and one-half,
she will be able to say that Frank, aside
from his glamour, separated from the roar
of his fans, considered without the glare
of his fame, was a typical American hus-
band— deeply in love with his wife — and
a typical American father — devoted to his
two children.
Nancy will remember her electric train
trouble. It developed last Fall, so when
her dad came home from the studio one
day, she asked him about it. "It won't go,"
she blubbered, "and when it gets to here,
it just sparks."
Frank got down on his hands and knees
and surveyed the problem. When a few
twists of a screw driver didn't accomplish
much, he began to take the track apart
and string it through the house. Then he
examined every switch, every contact,
every plug. That done, he started on the
engine, removed its innards, and finally dis-
covered what made it fail to tick. All this
work required every moment of his spare
time for a week, and during that time the
track, and parts of the engine, were scat-
tered through two rooms. Guests stepped
over the dismembered transportation sys-
tem, and Nancy, Sr. swept and dusted
around it until it was again assembled in
good working order.
When the wonderful instant of complete
recovery arrived, Frank set the locomotive
with its string of cars in place, and turned
the switch. Nancy's brown eyes danced.
Taking her father's hand, she pressed a
honeyed kiss into its palm.
Nancy is demonstrative, lavishly affec-
tionate, demanding and giving a wealth
of love. She adores her dad, her mother,
and most insistently, her lusty young
brother, Frankie. Frankie was a year old
on January tenth; he now weighs thirty
pounds, which is to say that he is a com-
bination of round cheeks, shining eyes,
and dimpled body. Nancy likes to kiss
the delicate curve of his chubby neck.
Frankie turns his head so she can muzzle
(Continued on page 90)
Mary went Dancing on
Sa/urday Night...
-and HOVD-BOd pins h<?ld
her Ringlets in Tight !.
• Why is a bobby pin? To hold your hair
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the way hold-bob bobby pins are made :
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. . . and you have the advantages that
make hold-bobs America's favorites!
Look for, ask for, the hold-bob card.
HOLD-BOB
"The bobby pins that HOLD"
87
■ "Hello, mother! The dessert won't jell! What'll I do now?"
This is young Marilyn Maxwell, just a few years ago, taking
her daily telephone cooking lesson from'her mother who was
then an organist in one of the Fort Wayne, Ind. theatres. The
telephone company undoubtedly declared extra dividends,
but the cooking lessons were a success. "I used to get so
excited waiting to see if my mother and my two brothers
liked what I'd cooked that I couldn't eat a bite myself!"
declared the golden-blonde, feminine (oh, very!) co-star of
"Between Two Women" in her dressing room at the Capitol
Theater in New York. Recently she's learned to cook game.
Not only that, but she goes out and shoots the chief ingredients!
"John (Conte) has always been a hunter and since we were
married I've learned to hunt and fish. I love it! Our ranch
is loaded with deer and I've learned to cook venison steaks.
Then sometimes we get a wild duck or a pheasant. Pheasant
is marvelous — we hang it in a cold place for three days, then
dress it and stuff it with wild rice, celery and apples. Venison
steaks are easy to do. I sprinkle the steaks with a special
tenderizing salt which you can buy in a health store and let
the steaks stand while the pan is heating good and hot.
I sear the steaks quickly, turn them over and pour a cocktail
glass of port wine over them and cook 5 minutes. That's all
there's to it!"
Just sitting there and looking at Marilyn's lithe figure and
beautiful face, you'd understand why a group of American
soldiers in Belgium have selected her as their dream girl, but
when you begin to appreciate all her knowing ways in the
kitchen, it doesn't seem unreasonable that she should also
have been chosen as the favorite actress of the Grandmothers
of America! This pleases her very much.
Marilyn was born in Clarinda, Iowa and lived in St. Peters-
burg, Fla. and Fort Wayne, Ind. before she became a soloist
with bands— Amos Ostat's, Buddy Rogers' and Ted Weems'.
Marilyn Maxwell, co-starring in "Between Two Women."
and she can cook, too!
Courtesy Knox Gelatine
Prune Oriental Cream, fluffy textured, richly flavored. When you
taste this you'll be sorry you've ever made unkind remarks about
"the lowly prune!" Prepare in advance, collect compliments later.
Isn't this de-lovely? A cottage cheese and pecan flavor team ably
supported by an all-star cast of fresh ripe fruits. Crisp young
vegetables, right out of your victory garden, would be yummy, too!
Star-cook Marilyn Maxwell hunts
her own roasts — wild duck, deer
and pheasant — and cooks 'em too!
Courtesy National Dairy Counci
by Nancy Woods
While she was singing with Buddy Rogers'
band, Mary Pickford, who was visiting her
husband, urged her to try for a screen
test, but Marilyn felt that singing, rather
than acting, was the thing she liked best.
Later Ted Weems urged her to try the
movies^ She yielded to the "Go west, young
woman" advice and arrived in Hollywood
with her mother in February, 1942.
Came 1944 and Marilyn's horoscope
(she's inclined to believe in astrology)
was looking very romantic! She started
work in a picture, "Lost in a Harem." So
did John Conte, "the singing M.C." "John
and I always refer to the picture as
"Found in a Harem," Marilyn laughed.
They were married in September at the
Little Church Around the Corner in New
York. Now they have an 850 acre ranch,
60 head of cattle and a help shortage. That
means that Marilyn has to do the cooking
several nights a week.
"I'd like to give you a recipe for an egg
dish— it really hasn't a name — I just call
it 'John's Favorite Breakfast'." As Marilyn
gave us the directions, we sensed that, in
imagination, she was way out in that ranch
house in California, preparing breakfast
for her ever-lovin'.
"Cover the bottom of a greased casserole
with fine toast crumbs — about a half inch
thick. Spread with a layer of sliced
Canadian bacon— that's John's first choice
—ham or sausage. Then add a layer of
very thinly sliced ripe tomatoes. Sprinkle
with salt and pepper. Over that goes a
layer of sliced American cheese. Next I
put four or five whole, unbeaten eggs on
the cheese and season them with salt,
pepper and a little paprika. Last of all, I
pour a half recipe of white sauce over
the eggs and bake in a moderate oven
(350° F.) about 20 minutes or until eggs
are set. John likes hot biscuits with this."
Marilyn gave us, too, a very easy and de-
lightful apple sauce pudding. Simply place
a quart of apple sauce in a buttered baking
dish. Roll enough graham crackers to
make about IV2 cup crumbs. Mix with V4
cup sugar, 3 tablespoons melted butter or
margarine and y2 teaspoon cinnamon or
nutmeg. Sprinkle over apple sauce. Bake
about 20 minutes in moderate oven or until
crumbs are brown.
John is of Italian descent and Marilyn
is eager to learn to cook some of the
Italian dishes his mother prepares so beau-
tifully. Chicken Florentine, for instance
So we foresee some serious telephoning
between the two Mrs. Contes, but within
a year Marilyn will do the best spaghetti
sauce on the West Coast!
Marilyn was one of the very first girls
to entertain soldiers and she's met
thousands of them. She can tell you one
of their hopes for the post-war world
is good, home-cooked food! So girls,
now's the time to improve your tech-
nique. The leaflet we have for you has
that recipe for Chicken Florentine.
Then, for sultry days heading our way,
yom'll want Cottage Cheese with Fresh
Fruit and Prune Oriental Cream shown
on the opposite page. If you're victory
gardening, there'll be young peas, onions
and carrots for a vegetable stew, topped
with tiny egg dumplings. And Marilyn's
very easy recipe for chocolate ice
cream.
We'd love to send you the recipes, but
be a pal — think of our help shortage and
send us a stamped, self-addressed en-
velope. Address: The Modern Hostess,
Dept. MM, Modern Screen Magazine,
149 Madison Ave., New York, 16, N. Y.
House will please
come io order !"
That's the stuff, Son . . . this is your time to give orders
and make 'em stick. Later on it won't be so easy.
And here's a tip — while you're still 'head man'. See that
the womenfolk do your washing with Fels-Naptha Soap.
At your age a fellow needs a large wardrobe— designed
for comfort more than style. He has to 'change' often
and on short notice.
That means a full-time job for Mother— and Fels-Naptha
Soap. Keeping you supplied with gar-
ments that are clean and sweet and snowy
white. Keeping the house shipshape
and the rest of the family happy.
So remember this: It's fairly painless to
'do your duds' — with the gentle soap
that makes the doing easy . . .
That's Fels-Naptha!
FELS-NAPTHA S0AP_banishes7attle-Tale Gray
89
this soft, warm spot, then he giggles in loud
glee at the tickling sensation of her kisses.
When she stops, his face sobers and he
regards his sister seriously. As she bends
down, he turns his head again and begins
to grin in anticipation. This game goes
on for hours.
But it is not only her brother whom
Nancy beguiles with her kisses. Her father
is teaching Nancy to be a little lady. One
thing he will not tolerate is a loud, coarse
tone of voice. Nancy's voice is naturally
sweet and low, but at times, in excitement,
she is inclined to yell.
One morning early, she was shouting
some unintelligible gibberish to the nurse.
Frank called from his bedroom, "Nancy,
come here, please."
She strolled in, looking guilty. She un-
derstood clearly what her error had been.
She climbed up on the bed as her father
said sternly, "Nancy, I've told you that
I don't want you. . . ."
By that time his daughter had her arms
around his neck and promptly cut off the
sentence with a kiss. Frank went on, when
the osculation was over, "I want my little
girl to be . . ." Again the reprimand was
terminated by a kiss.
He gave up. Later he said to Nancy, Sr.,
"I don't know how to handle that young
lady, sometimes. I just don't know how
you can correct a child when she's kissing
you."
Disciplining Nancy, however, will never
be much of a problem. All her father has
to do is to look at her sternly and say,
"Nan-cy!" and she hops. One day, she
played too roughly with the baby and
scratched him. Her father said just three
words, "You naughty girl," and Nancy
went to her room in desolated tears. She
stayed there, too, until her father went
after her, and assured her that he knew she
hadn't been wilfully or intentionally dis-
obedient, but merely careless,
biased music critic . . .
A visitor said to Nancy one day, "Which
one of your father's recordings do you
like best?"
The small music critic gave the problem
a moment's thought. "I believe I like the
Brahms' 'Lullaby' best," she said. The
question had been asked in the first place
to tease Nancy. Frank had just sung
"Nancy With The Laughing Eyes," and the
visitor thought this song, dedicated to
Nancy, would be her favorite.
So the visitor pursued, "What about that
song about a certain little girl?"
"Oh, that! Well, the Brahms is regular,
but the Nancy song is special," said Nancy,
distinguishing nicely between what be-
longed to the world, hence could be com-
pared to other music, and what belonged
to the family, hence was beyond com-
parison.
Nancy has seen only one of her father s
pictures, "Step Lively." In this, you will
remember, there occurred a scene in which
Frank was put to bed as a gag. The gag
turned sour and before the action was over,
the hotel doctor had administered a dose
of foul medicine to the "ailing" guest.
Nancy sat through the entire picture
without a word. Afterward, as she rode
home, she was obviously pondering a
problem.
When Frank arrived, he demanded,
"Well, how did you like the picture?"
Sorrowfully, she answered, "I didn't like
it. I can't stand to see you take medicine."
Frank explained that it was just a joke
and that the tablespoon contained, not
castor oil as Nancy had suspected, but
water.
Nancy still shook her head. "Even if
you aren't just saying it to make me feel
better, I still don't like it."
The two Nancys frequently wear mother-
daughter peasant outfits, tailored for them
at a Beverly Hills shop. However, small
Nancy is still built like a pencil, utterly
lacking her mother's pleasant curves. This
fact caused her a goud deal of skirt trouble.
At crucial moments, the pint-sized pleated
garment was likely to hug Nancy's heels
with disrupting suddenness. One morning
she scanned her father's suspenders
covetously. "Now, that's something like it,"
she murmured.
So her next outfit is to be complete with
suspenders — specified by her dad.
The first gift her father ever bought
Nancy was purchased four months before
she was born, and it was — of all things —
a book. As soon as Nancy's eyes could
focus on a page, Frank began to show her
pictures and to teach her the names of
animals, colors, and other objects. As a
result, Nancy at less than five years of age,
speaks like an adult. She can count to one
hundred, although she is inclined to add
twenty-ten, thirty-ten, forty-ten, fifty-ten,
sixty-ten, etc. to the usual scheme of num-
bers. Nowadays, when Frank comes up-
stairs to read her good-night story (when
he is able to be at home) she catches him
instantly if he tries to leave anything out.
She has been going to nursery school
since last Fall and is a proficient picture -
colorer. "I color better than anybody else,
almost, in my school," she told her father,
who promptly cautioned her against self-
praise. He said it wasn't nice; that she
should compliment the other children, but
she should be critical of her own work.
Nancy sighed. "Well, I'm a better colorer
because I'm carefuller around the edges,"
she maintained.
bring on the family tree . . .
The first gift Frank bought his young
son was a rattle with a musical attach-
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ment inside that, when agitated, gave forth
two separate and distinct tones. It stunned
all three older members of the family when
they discovered that Frankie, aged six
months, was shaking the rattle and hum-
ming—clearly on pitch— the two notes.
Frank has always brought home musical
gifts, and his son's quick ear for music
is likely to stimulate all manner of pur-
chases. Wherever he goes, he picks up
music boxes. From Boston he brought a
silent butler that plays "Auld Lang Syne."
From Chicago he brought Nancy a minia-
ture china spinette that plays "Silent
Night." From New York he brought Nancy,
Sr., a powder box that plays "I Love You
Truly," and from Philadelphia he brought
a circular cake stand on a base that plays
"Happy Birthday To You."
For a week before the baby's birthday,
Frank mystified the family by teaching
Frankie a new trick. Holding the chubby
young master on his knee, Frank would
strike a match, then say "Blow" and blow
out the light. After two or three evenings
of this, the sprout got the idea. When Dad
said, "Blow," Junior sputtered enough to
extinguish the flame.
Came then, Frankie's birthday. To the
table was brought a white cake boasting
one pink, glowing taper. Everybody made
a wish.^ Frank moved the cake over for
his son's convenience and said, "Blow."
One-hundred-percent success.
Looking at her young brother fondly
one day, Nancy, Jr., observed in regard to
her mother's sister, newly married, "I
suppose she has gone to the hospital to
get a baby, hasn't she?"
birds V bees . . .
Nancy, Sr., and Frank exchanged
glances. "Goodness, no," said the mother.
"She has just gone on her honeymoon."
"What's a honeymoon?" Nancy asked.
"It's a vacation that two people take
to celebrate getting married," explained
the older Nancy.
f Junior thought that one over. "Well,
I'm not going on a honeymoon when I get
married," she announced. "I'm going
straight to the hospital and get fifteen
children."
Incidentally, little Frank has a habit of
slowly moving his chubby left hand to the
lobe of his left ear and holding it, when
he becomes embarrassed or confused.
When strangers speak to him and try to
make friends, he doesn't cry or squirm;
he looks at the newcomer with great'
solemn eyes, gently massages his ear lobe,'
and considers the situation gravely. Then
a slow grin dawns.
He has another mannerism, and this one
is not original, but inherited intact from
his dad. When he is thinking about some
of the mysteries of the world in which he
finds himself, Junior slowly rubs his right
thumb back and forth across his lower lip.
This habit is identical to Frank, Sr.'s pre-
occupied gesture when he is studying a
score or making a business decision.
Christmas, last year, was really a festive
occasion in the Sinatra household. Months
before, Frank had exchanged a word with
Santa Claus to the effect that a playhouse
would be welcomed by Nancy: A play-
house large enough for her to enter and
live therein the secret and exciting life of
an imaginative small girl.
Christmas Eve the house was filled with
guests. Someone said to Frank, "Are you
going to trim your tree tonight?"
^ Nancy, Jr., answered that one quickly.
"Santa Claus trims our tree. Daddy just
gets the decorations out and leaves them
in a convenient place."
The children were tucked in early, but
guests continued to arrive. Everyone was
very gay, everyone was making plans for
a quick ending of war and a year of hap-
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piness ahead. Not until nearly five a.m.
did the last carol-singing guest leave.
Shortly before six, through the silvered
light of early dawn, a small night-gowned
form tiptoed to her mother's bed and
climbed into its warmth. In a voice that
quavered with excitement, small Nancy
whispered, "Do you think Santa Claus has
been here yet?"
"I don't think so," Nancy, Sr., answered.
"You go back to sleep for awhile."
The breathless whisper persisted, "Could
I ask Daddy if he thinks Santa has been
here yet?"
That was too much for Dad. Remember-
ing the tremulous heart, the shaking
ecstasy of his own childhood Christmases,
he climbed out of bed, put on a robe, and
volunteered to go downstairs.
He came back in a moment with the
joyous announcement: "He's been here."
Lifting his small daughter out of bed, he
carried her to her own room to get her
robe and slippers. As he bundled her up,
he realized that she was trembling with
anticipation. Small quivers of excitement
shook the warm body, and her eyes were
great pools of eagerness.
nifty st. nick . . .
Frank switched on the living room
lights, but only the electric tapers on the
huge Christmas tree in the corner sprung
into brilliance. And around that tree there
was everything of which a small girl could
dream: Dolls, a rocking horse for Frankie,
books, building toys, musical toys — and
a dream of a doll house.
Exhausted after investigating stockings,
opening packages (Nancy, Sr., received a
Baum Martin coat and a sunburst lapel
pin splashed with diamonds and rubies
with earrings to match), and trying on all
wearable gifts, the entire family returned
to bed at nine o'clock and slept until noon.
Neither Frank nor Nancy has made any
plans for the future of their children. A
friend asked Frank, "Do you ever think
that you want Nancy to attend some spe-
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Have any secret ambitions for Frankie?"
Frank shook his head. "In the enter-
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to day. I'm going to give them everything
in my power — but I'm not going to worry
about the how, when, or where until the
time comes."
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BLONDE OF THE YEAR
(Continued from page 47)
Mrs. Haver's sympathetic face to a row
of seventeen pairs of galoshes, and then to
a table growing bowlegged beneath seven-
teen assorted heart-shaped boxes of candy.
He swallowed hard. '"I — er— I'm awfully
sorry, Mrs. Haver, but I can't stay. I won't
even have time to take off my boots.
Would you mind asking June to step out
here for a minute?"
dear valentine . . .
June flew out to the entry and started
to say something about of course he had
to come in for a moment, but he inter-
rupted. "Valentine greetings," he said,
thrust a tiny gold heart box into her
hands, and shot out of the house like a
hive-tipper escaping a swarm of bees.
June's jaw slackened, and her heart
had a headache. Slowly, she opened the
smallest box of all; within was a gold
heart-locket on a slender gold chain. She
still has it, a precious momento.
The vanishing Valentine giver was not
the only humble Haver suitor. She had
been in Hollywood only a short time when,
the first Friday of each month, June began
to receive red roses After several months
of this, the color of the roses changed —
subsequent offerings were tea roses, and a
card written by the florist explained that
the giver of the roses had learned that
June's favorite color was pink or an
orange-cast rose shade, so the flowers
sought to comply with that taste. Oh,
lovely!
At Christmas time, June received a
gasp-getting red alligator bag, constructed
like a concertina— that is, capable of im-
pressive expansion— and closed with a
war-time-precious zipper. "Yipe," said
June, "am I ever grateful." But she was
somewhat embarrassed, too; it seemed a
little anti-Emily-Post to be accepting such
lavish gifts, from a stranger.
A few weeks ago, the social nuances were
satisfied; the donor of June's flowers and
other gifts was no stranger, but an ex-
neighbor. He wrote a long letter explain-
ing his admiration for June. Seems that
when they were both kids, he lived across
the street. "I really resented "you," he
wrote, "because you were such a junior
genius." She played the piano magnifi-
cently (at the green apple age of seven
she made a piano solo appearance with the
Cincinnati Symphony Orchestra, conducted
by Eugene Goossens), and this boy's
mother used to mention June in such
sentences as, "Why won't you practice the
way June does?" and "Why aren't you as
interested in music as June is?"
In short, June was a murder-maker as
far as this boy was concerned. But now
that he has grown up and has developed
a taste for loveliness served with or with-
out music, he confessed that he was glad
he didn't turn out to be one of the
principals in the Junior Javelin Murder
during those painful days long ago.
To date, June's favorite all-time gift is
the hula skirt she received a few days ago
from Farley Granger, who is stationed in
Honolulu. Farley, incidentally, is now
6'3" tall— "just Fred MacMurray's height,"
observed June pensively one day, scanning
the Mt. Everest altitude of Mr. MacMurray's
head. June, all 5'2" of her, appreciated
the solid sense of one of Farley's letters
in which he said, "Get out the highest plat-
form shoes you own and save your
coupons for a pair of real spike heels,
because we're going dancing as soon as I
can get home."
By no means is June always on the
receiving end of the gift racket. She is
BUY MORE WAR BONDS!
93
always seeing some item that was obviously
designed, manufactured, and placed in a
window display for the possession of some
friend or relative. The entire Haver family
is a corporation of enthusiastic gift buyers.
Christmas, with them, is a frantic holiday
festooned with slip-ups and fractured
secrets.
Consider, for instance, that situation
of two Christmases ago. Mrs. Haver had
said from time to time, throughout the
years, "Some day I'd like to have a dia-
mond bracelet. Nothing Mae-Westian, of
course, but something simple, in keeping
with the rest of my possessions."
So June and her older sister (and
adored buddy) Dorothy, talked it over
and found that, by pooling their resources,
they could buy a very dignified and charm-
ing bracelet. They went shopping. They
considered this bracelet and that. Finally
they found one that was stunning, but it
was just a little more than they had
amassed. Not until two weeks later would
they have the necessary amount. So they
decided to wait and buy the jewel of their
prideful choice.
At the end of the two weeks, the girls—
abubble with excitement — descended upon
the jeweler and stated importantly that
they wanted to see a particular bracelet
again. They had decided to purchase it,
they said. The jeweler was apologetic and
regretful. Only the day before, that
bracelet had been sold.
There was another bracelet, almost as
lovely, available, so they took it. On the
way home they spent a good deal of time
assuring one another that this bracelet
was really the smarter — the other had
been a little heavy, not quite as interest-
ing, not quite as right for their mother.
At home they hid their purchase and
answered the call to dinner looking quite
smug. It was a very gay dinner; everyone
laughed uproariously at the quips of every
one else. High good humor bounced
around the room like circus balloons in a
high wind. ( ,
Finally Mrs. Haver capitulated. ' I can t
stand it another minute," she exploded.
"I was going to keep it secret until Christ-
mas, but I can't." She brought out a long,
slender jeweler's box. "With the Christ-
mas money I've saved from other years,
and with other gift checks, I bought myself
a diamond bracelet. From myself to my-
self—Merry Christmas."
double trouble . . .
June and Dorothy exchanged a long,
stunned stare, then they howled with de-
light. The bracelet Mrs. Haver had bought
was the one they had wanted! After a
surprise of such magnitude the girls
couldn't keep their secret either, so they
hauled forth their purchase and presented
it. Then everyone cried a few happy tears.
Last Christmas, June and Dorothy had
purchased, among other things, a set of
twelve cocktail napkins embroidered with
pink elephants— for their mother. A week
before the holiday, June, Dorothy, Mrs.
Haver, and Evelyn (the youngest Haver)
were shopping for friends when Mrs.
Haver passed a linen shop, exclaimed, and
retraced her steps.
The girls, tasting calamity, walked
slowly on. "Come on, Mother," they urged.
"Come on back— I want you to see
something," she called. "There are the
most unique cocktail napkins here. I think
I'll run in and buy a dozen."
The girls descended on their mother.
They said time was a-wasting, and that
the napkins could wait until after Christ-
mas. They said they didn't like the design
very well, anyhow. . . . Come on, Mother!
"You'll like them when you get used to
them," said Mother, marching into the
store. So the girls had to tell her.
Furthermore, to render the holiday a
complete concerto of confusion, June and
her mother had combined resources to
buy Dorothy a handsome set of gold bird
clips. "At least we'll have ONE secret,"
June opined.
The following day, Mrs. Haver and
Dorothy were shopping for June's sur-
prise gift. The merchandiser, who had sold
Mrs. Haver and June the clips, passed
them in the store aisle and called out
cheerily, "I know your daughter is ; going
to be pleased with those gold birds."
Grinning at Mrs. Haver, Dorothy said,
"Merry Christmas, Mother!"
The Christmas gift that June remem-
bers most tenderly, however, is an in-
tangible one. As unreal as the Christ-
mas spirit itself, yet it remains as real
in memory as the sound of sleigh bells
or the fragrance of mountain pine.
While June was growing up, she always
spent Christmas Eve singing in a Chil-
dren's Hospital. One year she had been
knocking herself out in a ward, singing
merry little jingles and carols, when a
ten-year-old colored girl was wheeled in.
A young intern was keepiMg an eye on
his small patient, and a nurse was also
in attendance. June went on with her
program, but — after her next song — the
newest member of the audience lifted a
thin hand and beckoned weakly. June
tripped over and leaned down to the
patient, who slid one arm around June's
shoulders. The girl was too weak to speak
aloud, but she whispered, "Please sing, 'Is
It True What They Say About Dixie?'"
Defeating by sheer will power the catch
in her throat, June sang every verse she
knew. Then the little girl, eyelids heavy
over great brown eyes, was wheeled away.
She lapsed into a coma a few moments later
and died the following day. Having
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checked up by telephone, June hung up
after hearing this news, and went out
to the kitchen where she told her mother
thoughtfully, "I'm glad I had the privilege
of giving the little girl her last Christmas
present. It's odd what things turn out
to be important in this world, isn't it?"
To this day June is repelled by the
odor of iodoform, not only because of this
experience, but because of an earlier
happening equally heart-wringing but
without — luckily — a tragic denouement.
When June was eight, she came romp-
ing home from school one day to be told
that her mother was in the hospital. She
had been badly injured in an automobile
accident. The three girls, white-lipped
and with hearts turned to resounding
gongs, rushed to the hospital. Mrs. Haver
had suffered a frontal concussion so her
face had turned a mottled purple and was
distended with swelling. June managed
to swallow her sickness, to be fairly cheer-
ful, and to promise to come back the next
day, but when she left the room she cried
wildly and said she knew her mother was
going to die. No one could talk her out
of it.- "Her hair is all falling down and
even if her face is bruised, there isn't any
color in her lips. I know she's going to
die," she wailed disconsolately.
Actually, although she had been pain-
fully pounded, Mrs. Haver was in no
critical danger. But, when the girls' father
reported June's agonized words, she man-
aged a smile and said she'd fix every-
thing. The next afternoon, when June
arrived, she found her mother's hair
brushed and tied back with a gay pink
ribbon, and Mrs. Haver was wearing
cardinal lipstick. June relaxed; the world
again moved in its orderly orbit.
jaywalking june . . .
June, herself, had a narrow escape from
an automobile. Emerging from the judge's
chambers the day her contract with 20th
Century-Fox was approved, she darted
across the street without seeing a taxi
cab preparing to plunge from its parking
spot. Mrs. Haver, a few feet behind June,
saw the whole thing and screamed. June
summoned all her adagio ability and leaped
to the safety of the curbing, but the taxi-
screeching past— slapped the skirt of her
coat as the paw of a lion might score a
near-miss on his trainer's coat tails.
With spaghetti-limp knees, Mrs. Haver
managed to join her daughter on the safety
of the sidewalk. Closing her eyes and
exhaling a long breath, Mrs. Haver said,
"Oh, baby! Just when you're getting your
big break. ..."
". . . I almost got my final break," June
finished the sentence.
The Havers, as even the most casual
observer would instantly guess, are a
singularly devoted family and every indi-
cation is that Dorothy's husband, Bill
Flynn, has been absorbed into the family
with a speed typical of the Havers.
. June was Cupid in this deal. While she
was singing with Ted Fio Rito's band, one
of the members (Frank Flynn) said re-
peatedly, "When we get to Los Angeles
you MUST meet my brother, Bill. He's
just right for you. Because he's a 'cellist,
he'd appreciate your musicology; because
hes hep, he'd admire your enthusiasm.
Oh, you've got to meet Bill."
So when the troupe reached Los
Angeles, Frank took the Havers (Mrs.
Haver, Dorothy and June) and huwied
out to visit the celebrated brother who
answered the door wearing leather house
slippers, a handsome pair of slacks, a
swagger house jacket, and smoking a pipe.
Which is to say that he strongly resembled
Esquire's" version of the sharp young man
about town. June and Dorothy exchanged
glances spelling put "wow!"
After a certain amount of chatter in the
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apartment, Bill asked the group to join
him for luncheon and managed to get
himself seated next to Dorothy. "Hmmmm,"
thought June, "what goes on here? Frank
said Bill would be just right for me."
However, Dorothy and Bill, by that time,
were deep in various conversations which
— when boiled down — amounted to that
age-old query, "Where have you been all
my life?" It was love at first sight. They
knew that they would be married eventu-
ally, but the war was resting a clammy
hand on Bill's shoulder, so they decided
to settle for a long engagement.
In the fall of 1943, Mrs. Haver and June
went East on the location jaunt for the
filming of "Home In Indiana." (Since that
time, June has made "When Irish Eyes
Are Smiling," "Where Do We Go From
Here," and at present she is working with
Betty Grable in "The Dolly Sisters.")
One morning they received a phone call
from Dorothy in Los Angeles, saying that
Bill was there on leave and that he was
going to be sent overseas before the Havers
could all get together for an old-fashioned
family wedding ... so, did they mind if
she was married September Thirtieth at
the Church of the Good Shepherd?
The day of the wedding, Mrs. Haver
caused an acute Haver handkerchief short-
age. She and June, watching the clock,
said to one another, "Now she's getting
dressed to go to the church." "Now she's
marching down the aisle." "Now Bill is
slipping the ring on her finger."
As soon as he was married, Bill was
shifted first to one base, then to another,
with Dorothy going wherever he went.
She, June and Mrs. Haver kept up a
frantic letter-telegram-telephonic mara-
thon in an attempt to arrange a meeting
somewhere. Finally they discovered that
all four would be in Chicago for a simul-
taneous twenty minutes.
Chicago shenanigans . . .
Naturally, June's train was late. She
and her mother nearly drove the conductor
crazy, asking him when they would really,
positively, absolutely get into Chicago. The
seconds raced, the moments zoomed, the
hours lightninged, while the wheels of
the locomotive made a circle about as fast
as the growth rings in a redwood.
Finally, in contradiction to their gloomy
view, the train arrived in a driving rain.
As they passed the Arrival & Departure
scoreboard, they noted that Dorothy's train,
too, was late. So they stood on one foot
and then the other until — in the dim
distance fogged by rain — they made out a
tall form in uniform beside which trotted
a drenched, but widely grinning Dorothy.
Bill is currently in England, flying a
C-47. His squadron's won a Presidential
Citation, and Bill has won an Air Medal
with two Oak Leaf Clusters. Quite a guy.
A good deal of June's life has been spent
in stations and on trains. Even her 18th
birthday found her taking a dim view of
the situation from a seat in the club car.
"Here I've been looking forward to my
18th birthday for at least 10 years, and
what happens! I spent it in a miserable
old train on my way to Chicago," she
groused to her mother.
But when they arrived that night, they
were met by a flock of 20th Century offi-
cials and whisked to the Pump Room
where June was given a birthday party to
make a Maharanee seem miserly. There
was a magnificent birthday cake, of course,
but best of all, there was iced champagne.
All her life June had heard about cham-
pagne, so it represented the utter zenith
of success in her mind.
She loved it. And why shouldn't she?
Champagne is June's kindred element:
like June it is tops of its type, it is
effervescent, sparkling, fragile. June Haver
is The Champagne Kid.
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(Continued from page 8)
wouldut be repulsive. Don't sit a million miles
away from him in the car. Give him a couple
of soulful looks during the evening, Instead
of jabbering your head off as he's taking you
to your door to say goodnight, tell him 'softly
how -wonderful the evening was and what fun
he is to be with. Next month you'll be writing
m for advice in warding them off.
■ When a boy cuts in at a dance, should you
say anything to the departing lad? Helen
McP., Doylestown, Pa.
Actually, he should thank you for the dance
but we think it's just as right for the gal to
do the thanking. Not in so many ivords may-
be, but give him your flashiest smile and say
I hat was lovely." Or fust squeeze his hand
a little and whisper, "Nice!"
■ I like Johnny very, very much, and I think he
likes me^ He has taken me out a few times, and
it has been more fun each date. His school
gives a big prom in the late spring, and I'm
dying to be invited. How could I subtly hint
at it? Georgia A., Houston, Texas.
Subtle hints are generally fatal. Things ap-
pear to be going so nicely right this minute
that ive d just let nature take its course Con-
tinue to look and be your cutest self, and don't
get tense and frenzied as the prom date ap-
proaches If he hasn't spoken up by, say, two
■weeks before the party, you might drop some
bombshell like, "The family wants me to qo
away with them the zveek end of the twenty-
first. Force his hand, capitalize on the old
■war of nerves. He'll undoubtedly ask you
but if for some reason he doesn't, be com-
pletely nonchalant and unruffled.
■ What is the age at which a girl should be
allowed to date? Babs' Mother, Los Angeles
Calif.
The dating age seems to vary throughout
the country, ranging from twelve or thirteen,
in parts of the South, to sixteen in some sec-
tions of the East. We think fourteen is a good
age to begin having house dates and doubles.
It might be a good idea for all the mothers in
your neighborhood to standardize on the
dating age, curfew, and number of dates a
week.
I SAW IT HAPPEN
Yes, sir, I saw it
happen! When I was
just about fourteen,
a friend and I
haunted a local food
show in Atlanta,
Georgia, trying our
darndest to get a
glimpse of lovely
Irene Rich who, it
was rumored, ap-
peared for just a short time each eve-
ning for Welch's products. We were
beginning to doubt the truthfulness of
the rumor until one evening we DID
get to see her! There she was coming
through the crowd clad in a breath-
takingly beautiful gown, looking every
bit as gorgeous as on the screen. When
she arrived at the Welch booth, she
mounted a small crate so as to be
above the crowd and get to everyone
who clamored for her autoaraph. Then
IT happened! The crate gave under
her very slight weight and she toppled
over right into my arms!
We were both stunned and embar-
rassed but she thanked me in that
wonderful voice of hers, and I haven't
yet forgotten my close brush with
glamour.
Frances R. Hill,
Frederick, Oklahoma
II
MINE IS A STORY
no pictures can tell
— says Mrs. Louise Sullenger
of Dearborn, Michigan
"I am sending you two snapshots," writes
Louise Sullenger, "one, of the woman I
used to be-one, of the woman I am today.
They tell you something of the physical
change in my appearance. But no photo-
graph can reveal the buoyancy, the zest
for living, that now fills me with eagerness
for the adventures of each new day.
"No one need tell me what an overweight
woman thinks about!" says Mrs. Sullen-
ger. "I know all the tortures of buying a
size 40 dress. I know the misery of refus-
ing invitations because of being ashamed
of my appearance. Not so long ago, I was
wallowing in self-pity, with only one re-
maining grain of resolution: I would try
the DuBarry Success Course.
"In ten weeks from the time I started, I
lost 25 pounds
.-i
and got back the
waistline I had
as a girl. Then
I bought a new
suit— size 14!
"But no words
and no pictures
can express how
it feels to look
into the mirror
and see reflect-
ed a shining, ra-
diant face — to
feel that all of
life is still be-
fore you, and to
know that you
have the energy,
the courage —
yes, and the
beauty to enjoy
it."
These are the snap-
shots Mrs. Sullen-
ger sent to Ann
Delafield — the one
above showing her
"as she used to
be," the one at
right showing herl
on finishing thel
Success Course. f
HOW ABOUT YOU? Haven't you
wished that you could be slender again, hear
the compliments of friends, wear youthful
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It shows you how to follow at home the
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The plan is intensely practical. It fits into
your daily life. You get an analysis of your
HEIGHT(AFTER)
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needs, a goal to work for and a plan for
attaining it. You learn how to bring your
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[ ' ' fit Guaranteed by v\
Please send the booklet telling all about the VGood ?!?-?ieJc?eP"1K>
I
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a generous supply of Du- \
Barry Beauty and Make-up i City z™. No., o.
Preparations for your type. ' '■'*"• otate.
LITTLE MISS REMARKABLE
(Continued from page 39)
So Mrs. O'Brien watched, while Margaret
drew slow, conscientious strokes on the
white paper. Strokes that brought into
being a girl with long, tawny hair and
oblique green eyes and a necklace of
obviously expensive pearls. In short, a
Glamor Girl. "Like a movie star," Mar-
garet explained helpfully.
let's pretend . . .
Because to Margaret, a movie star is
Lana Turner or Greer Garson, or some-
body like that. The fact that she herself is
rapidly turning into America's Sweetheart
and is co-starred with some of the biggest
names in Hollywood, doesn't mean a thing
to her. Not that she doesn't like it. She's
crazy about it. Acting is like eating ice
cream every day in the week and twice
on Sundays. It's wonderful because it's
what she likes best in all the world. It's
a game of "Let's Pretend," but instead of
playing it by herself at home, she plays
it at the studio on a great big set made just
for the game, and with people like Judy
Garland and Robert Young and June Ally-
son to play it with her.
Once in a while the "Let's Pretend" game
gets almost too exciting. Like the time
during the shooting of "For Our Vines
Have Tender Grapes." There was a scene
that sounded as if it was going to be
wonderful fun. Margaret and Jackie Jen-
kins (her favorite co-actor) were to be
afloat on the deep in a wooden bathtub.
They were supposed to be asleep and not
know the tub had floated off. The scene
was to be shot on the lake at Metro, and
Margaret looked forward to it with con-
siderable enthusiasm. She isn't sure just
when she stopped pretending to be scared
and started being really and truly fright-
ened. But all of a sudden, it was as if
they were on a real ocean, floating around
in this flimsy old tub. The waves were like
towering, grey cliffs, ready to fall on them
and bury them forever. The tub whirled
madly, and Margaret and Jackie clutched
each other in panic.
"We're supposed to be scared," Mar-
garet said, trying to keep her voice from
shaking. "They want us to be scared, for
the picture."
"Not this scared," quavered Jackie in a
small voice.
Margaret's heart banged madly in her
chest, like the hooves of a runaway horse.
How fast could your heart go, anyway,
without stopping entirely? Sometimes
people died of fright, and maybe it was
because their hearts beat so fast that they
cracked right in two. Would it be better
to die of fright, or to drown, Margaret
wondered unhappily.
The tub gave a horrible lurch. It felt
as if it was going to turn over. Margaret
said a quick, little girl's prayer. "Please,
God, take care of Jackie and me, and
make this silly old bathtub act like it's
s'posed to." Then above the slap of the
waves came another, a familiar sound. A
voice yelled "Cut! That's it, boys." And
Margaret's breath, which had been chas-
ing itself like a kitten after its tail, came
out in a long, relieved sigh. She and
Jackie sat up, and the waves magically
died, and a few feet away was the boat-
load of expert swimmers assigned by
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Metro to guard its bathtub full of valuable
property. As the tub was pulled ashore,
Mrs. O'Brien came up hurriedly.
"Were you frightened, honey? The
waves got pretty high."
"We-e-11, we were a little frightened,"
Margaret told her, with dignity. "We
wouldn't have wanted the tub to turn
over and spoil the take."
Life on the set isn't usually quite that
thrilling. But it's always fun. Margaret
begins getting ready for it the moment
she wakes up in the morning. She knows
what scenes she'll do that day, because
she's memorized them the night before.
The hard way. You see, when you've just
had your eighth birthday and you haven't
really started school yet, you can't learn
your lines by reading them, the way other
people do. You learn them by having
your mother read them to you, over and
over, and they sort of percolate around
in your head all night and by morning
you've turned into the person you're going
to play that day.
For instance, if you're Tooty, the prob-
lem child of "Meet Me In St. Louis," you
don't help mother and Aunt Marissa gel
you dressed. Of course not, because then
you wouldn't be a problem child. You
stall around and hide your shoes and
throw your brush across the room, and
when they expostulate, you widen your
brown eyes at them and say, "But I'm
practicing my part!' Anyway, that's what
Margaret did. Until after a few mornings
of this sort of thing, Mrs. O'Brien said
firmly, "No more nonsense. You're Tooty
on the set, but at home you're Margaret
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who gets a spanking . if she doesn't be-
have." Oh, well, it was fun while it lasted!
Margaret can dress herself, but it's a
long and involved process, so it's simpler
on working days for her mother and
Manssa to do it for her. One thing she is
very particular about is her hair. It's
shining brown and very, very straight,
and she likes to wear it in two plump pig-
tails. Shoes are important to her, also.
She loves to have them match her dresses.
Her favorite costume is a blue dress that
they bought when they were in Mexico
City, blue shoes to go with it, and a blue
ribbon for her hair. Decked out in this
finery, Margaret looks down her small nose
at any amount of ermine and sables and
orchids which happen by.
That trip to Mexico City was quite a
thing. Margaret had a beautiful time. Her
favorite spot in the city was, curiously, the
shrine of Gaudalupe, the Mexican Virgin
Mary. Margaret is very religious and she
loved the legend of the robe which hangs
in the shrine of Guadalupe. Mrs. O'Brien
overheard her telling a friend her version
of the story, like this—
"You see, there was this Indian boy, and
he was a very good boy, only nobody
knew it. This was way back in the
Spaniard time. One day he was just dying
and the vision of Guadalupe appeared to
him. He told people and they laughed, but
he opened up his robe, and there was the
vision, -painted-like, on the inside of it.
When the Pope heard about it," Margaret
added meditatively, "he was kind of
startled. But they hung the robe in the
shrine, and they let me right in close to
see it."
no spik englis . . ..
Margaret didn't spend all her time at the
shrine, of course. She and her mother and
Marissa saw a lot of the country around
Mexico City. One day they drove up into
a hill village, and while the others attended
to some business, Margaret played happily
with a group of bronzed, pleasantly dirty
little Mexican children. By the time they
were ready to go home, Margaret had gone
native. She'd grabbed an old black scarf
Marissa had left in the car and put it over
her head. Gold earrings, from heaven
knows where, were decorating her small
ears, and she had discarded her shoes
entirely and was running around barefoot.
Anyone who came along and addressed
her in English got a cold reception. "No
spik Englis," Margaret informed them,
with a baleful stare, and would then
proudly rattle off the half dozen Spanish
words she knew, regardless of the fact
that they made no sense whatever.
One night in Mexico City, Mrs. O'Brien
asked the hotel to provide a trustworthy
nursemaid to stay with Margaret for the
evening. The nursemaid arrived — calm,
capable, and named Guadalupe after the
Virgin. Margaret loved her on sight, and
Guadalupe obviously thought this little
girl came straight from heaven. She
couldn't be separated from Margaret while
they were there, and when they finally
came back to California, Guadalupe came
right along and is now as much a part of
the O'Brien household as Maggie, the
Chinese cocker spaniel Margaret adores, or
Francesca, the canary.
Francesca is chartreuse, with intelligent
black eyes. She is definitely a one-woman
canary, and ignores everyone but Mar-
garet with monumental disdain. Mar-
garet picked the canary out herself—
almost drove the man in the pet shop
out of his mind, before she finally selected
Francesca. The next thing was training
the bird, and she has really done a fine
job of it.
"It isn't so hard," she explained to
someone who was impressed by the
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canary's tameness. "We kept her in a
small room at first, and so she got used
to not flying around. I talked and talked
to her, and she understood me."
Apparently, she does. Anyway, she
lights on Margaret's shoulder and eats
birdseed from her hand and seems to
enjoy the whole situation. When they
came to New York, Francesca came with
them and livened the journey for
Margaret.
"We let her fly around the compart-
ment, and she never once tried to fly
out," Margaret said complacently. "She
likes us."
Of course, once in a while, Francesca,
like all pets, gets a bit temperamental.
She describes chartreuse parabolas through
the air above Margaret's head and won't
be coaxed down by offers of any amount
of birdseed. But her young owner has
evolved a system to handle this situation.
Margaret turns out all the lights (she can
see in the dark like a cat, this child) and
then spots Francesca and sneaks up on
her quietly. Presto — one caged canary!
Margaret loved their recent trip to
New York. Everything was so exciting.
She had lots of little boys and girls to
play with, and she'd rather have playmates
than anything. Elsa Maxwell gave a birth-
day party for her, which made her bliss-
fully happy. There was an enormous cake
and lots of presents. Margaret acquired
a beau at that party. This isn't a gossip
column, so we won't tell you his name, but
he was a year older than Margaret, and he
fell pretty hard. Took to calling her up
several times a day, and following them
around town. He finally sent her two
dozen American Beauty roses. Margaret
eyed them dreamily.
"They're not only awfully pretty," she
told Marissa, "but they make me feel so
popular."
kid stuff . . .
Young Walter Winchell, Jr., called at
the O'Brien suite one day to escort Mar-
garet to a children's party. She wasn't
dressed yet when he arrived. Girls never
are, they love to keep men waiting, of
course. So Walter had a talk with Marissa.
"How old is Margaret?" he inquired.
"She just had her eighth birthday."
He looked slightly disillusioned. "Really?
I thought she was nine. I'm ten, myself."
"Sometimes she seems older," said
Marissa hastily. .
"Oh, sure." He brightened. "In pictures
you'd think she was seventeen or some-
thing, the way she steals scenes." He
brooded a moment. "Say, will we have to
dance at this party?"
Marissa wasn't sure. "I can't dance a
step," Walter told her, worried.
Marissa grinned. "Neither can Mar-
garet. She's taken a few lessons— Norma
Shearer has had some of the kids over at
her house on Sunday afternoons with a
teacher, but I don't believe Margaret could
cope with a partner."
"We'll sit them out," Walter said in a
relieved tone.
One night the O'Briens went to the St.
Regis, where Margaret was fascinated by
a ventriloquist act which featured a
dummy called "Alkali Ike." The next
morning she named her pet doll Ike, and
for days she drove her mother quietly
crazy by talking out of the side of her
mouth in a hoarse "Alkali Ike" voice. It
was all right when just the family were
there, but it had a sinister effect on visi-
tors who weren't used to Margaret's
imagination.
In Hollywood, the O'Briens live in a
small apartment. Very small, in view of
Margaret's star status and the amount of
"keeping up with the Joneses" usually
done in the cinema city. But Mrs. O'Brien
i
doesn't want her daughter to get any
delusions of grandeur. She is to live a
simple, normal life like any other little
girl of eight. She has certain duties to
perform — she sets the table and straightens
up her room and occasionally thinks up
transparent excuses to get out of these
tasks, even as you and I. One thing she
likes to do is mix salad dressing. She
does it with a grave, headwaiterish air,
and the dressing is wonderful. Margaret
always has an enormous appetite. She
doesn't like milk or vegetables, but she
eats quantities of fruit and cottage cheese.
Of course steak is her favorite food. This
proved a little embarrassing one night
when they went out to dinner at a restau-
rant. Steak was on the menu and Mrs.
O'Brien said, "You and I might have one
between us, honey."
starvin' star . . .
Margaret assumed the expression of a
blind man who has just been robbed of his
life savings. She looked pathetically at
the waiter. "Im so hungry," she said,
with a heart-breaking catch in her voice.
"I :eally need a great, big, juicy steak all
to myself." The waiter gave Mrs. O'Brien
an accusing, so-you're-trying-to-starve-
the-kid stare, and Margaret got her steak.
But don't think she always gets her own
way. Far from it. Each case is decided on
its merits, and mother can be very firm
indeed. One time Joe Pasternak presented
Margaret with a pony. "Darling, it's too
bad, but you can't possibly keep it," Mrs.
O'Brien said regretfully. "We have no
place for it, and it costs a fortune to board
a horse at the stables."
"We could move to a house, mother.
With a stable and a meadow where the
pony could run around. Then I could
have a collie dog, too!" This last has been
her ambition for a long time.
"I'm sorry, honey, but it's impossible.
Maybe in a year or so. But now we're
better off in the apartment."
Margaret didn't give up so easily. The
next day Mrs. O'Brien came downstairs
just in time to hear her daughter talking
in a low, confidential voice to the manager
of the apartment house. "You see, Mr.
Pasternak gave me this pony. It's a very
well behaved pony, and I thought maybe
you wouldn't mind if we kept him in the
hall closet. He's a small pony and it's a
large closet." Her brown eyes were so
pleading that it's quite possible the man-
ager, hypnotized by their gaze, would have
said, "Go right ahead, Margaret. Any-
thing you want," if Mrs. O'Brien hadn't
intervened.
Margaret is learning to ride horseback,
and she has a naturally good seat and what
riders call "good hands." No wonder, for
her mother was a circus rider for four
years and had an idea, originally, that
Margaret might become one, too. But that
was before Destiny — and Hollywood — took
over. Margaret's first experience with a
horse was nearly disastrous. She climbed
on, and the groom let go of the animal's
bridle. The horse promptly bolted out of
the ring while everyone gasped and gave
small, helpless screams. Margaret kept her
head. Instead of trying to stay on while
the horse bolted, she waited until he slowed
down for a corner and -slid off into the
grass by the road. She was only bruised
and it was by far the wisest thing she
could have done.
poor horsey . . .
"It wasn't the horse's fault," she told her
mother. "He thought I knew how to ride."
She had a little trouble riding a calf
one time, too. She got on confidently
enough. Anybody could ride a calf. But
the calf had other ideas. "He kept putting
his head down." Margaret explained, ag-
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v Good Housekeeping 1
became beautiful because she was beauti-
ful inside. She thought it was a lovely
play, but being heroine put no ideas into
her head.
At twelve, life became real and earnest.
High school loomed ahead, and with it, the
frightening discovery that she'd have to
choose her own courses.
"But how will I know what to, choose?"
"There's only one way," said Mother.
"Think how you want to earn your living
later on, and choose accordingly."
"But how can you tell? Suppose you
change your mind?"
Mother laughed, which right away made
the whole thing less terrifying. "You don't
have to sign a contract, darling. Lots of
people change their minds — "
"Well," said Jeanne slowly, "all I ever
wanted to be was an artist."
The Sister who taught art at St. Mary's
was wonderful. They painted lovely Ma-
donnas in oils, and Jeanne read all the
lives of the old masters, and thought how
she'd start off as a humble apprentice to
some great-souled DaVinci or Michael-
angelo whose prize pupil she'd be, and
then in the end she'd rise to fame herself.
Only all the great painters were men,
which worried her, till she discovered
Madame Vigee-LeBrun and took heart.
"If she could," thought Jeanne, "I can."
Of course Vigee-LeBrun was no Raphael,
but you could always start modestly and
go on from there . . .
Yes, and you can dream just so long.
One day Jeanne woke up, having read a
book by Dean Cornwell about the artist
in the modern world. It seems the Renais-
sance had been dead these many years and
there were no great masters you could
sit at the feet of, and to make any money
you had to draw advertising posters or
design costumes, which was a far cry from
Madonnas and held no appeal for Jeanne
at all. What to do now? She was lost in
the Twentieth Century. She should have
been born four hundred years ago —
"That would make you dead," said Rita,
the practical, "and you wouldn't be going
to the Junior Prom — "
The girls at St. Mary's and the boys at
Loyola sort of grew up together. The first
dance you went to was the Loyola Junior
Prom. If you didn't have a date, the Sisters
arranged one for you. A charm expert
came to explain about make-up and
clothes. You brought your dress to school
for approval — the neckline mustn't be too
low, and there had to be some kind of
sleeve, even just a puff . . .
The brother of one of her classmates
asked Jeanne to the Prom. Rita and Mother
went shopping with her. "We want it to
be the prettiest dress in town," Mother
said. They must have shopped for three
days and at last they found it — blue silk
net with pink rosebuds, yards and yards
round the bottom. Silver wedge-heeled
slippers, a little silver bag and, to cap it
all, a black velvet cloak, the hood lined
with white fur.
first date ...
She started dressing two hours ahead of
time. She was scared to death. When you're
fifteen and haven't danced very much, the
big mystery is following. How can you be
sure you'll know how? (A little powder
and lipstick. She felt funny about the lip-
stick, but that's what the charm expert
said.) Suppose she stumbled, she'd die of
embarrassment. (Her naturally curly hair
was easy to fix. The dress was perfect. No
jewelry. As little decoration as possible,
Mother always said. Just the corsage of
lovely pink rosebuds the boy had sent.)
If only her heart would stop pounding,
if only the first dance were over, and she
knew she could follow —
Granny and Auntie Bee had come over,
and they were all gathered round to see
her off. They didn't say much— the boy
was waiting— but she could tell thev
thought she looked all right-
Well, there was nothing to it, no mystery
at all— you simply followed. She had a
perfectly wonderful time. It was a program
dance, and her card was filled, and they
had sandwiches and punch and 12: 30 came
too soon. Mother hadn't waited up on pur-
pose—when you're old enough to go to
a dance, she said, you're old enough not
to be waited up for. But Jeanne woke her
and Rita came in, and she told them all
about it in detail, and then she put the
program card away with her treasures
There was a beauty contest for Miss Cali-
fornia at the Coliseum that summer. One
of the bandleaders was a friend of theirs
and invited them down. To the Crains, it
was just a Saturday night's outing. They
didn t know Fate was around, pointing a
finger. That poetic-looking child with the
chestnut hair," said Fate. "Time we got
her started out as a movie star—"
For ways that are dark, Bret Harte's
Oriental has nothing on Fate. That char-
acter seemed to be starting Jeanne out in
reverse. True, she was picked from the
audience, as a contestant. True, she won
third place and the title of Miss Long
Beach, though they should have disquali-
fied her for not being eighteen. True the
winners were treated to a day at RKO
and someone came over to Jeanne at the
luncheon table and said, "Orson Welles
would like to talk to you. Could you have
tea with him this afternoon?"
If the girl had said Joe Smith, it would
have been exciting. So there's no word in
u ^c^onavy to describe the impact of
the Wellesian name on Jeanne. At home
they never missed one of his programs'
He was a god and a shining light and he'd
asked Jeanne to tea. Yet only her eyes
betrayed what went on inside. "I think I
can," she said quietly.
Mother could always tell when some-
thing big had happened to Jeanne. Not that
she squealed or leaped or went into fren-
zies. Flushed cheeks and starry eyes were
the only outward signs. Except for one
«™f^ S^,e1aiways came running— calling
Mother!" before she got there
"Mother! I had tea with Orson Welles.
He thinks I might do for Lucy in 'Mag-
nificent Ambersons'— "
That night they got the book from the
library, and read it through again. Mr.
Welles sent a script over and set a day
tor the test. Mother went along, but waited
m somebody's office. Close enough to be a
bulwark, she said, and not close enough
to get into Jeanne's hair ...
There was no rehearsal, and she'd never
acted before except in "Scarface." She'd
never even thought of being an actress,
as Rita had. When the test was over, Mr
Welles said he'd call in a day or so. But
when he called, he asked for Mother-
Jeanne listened tensely. "I see—" "I un-
derstand Mr. Welles—.'" "I'm sorry too,
but youve been very kind — " "Yes of
course I'll tell her—."
tried and found wanting . . .
She turned from the phone to her daugh-
ter s stricken face. "It's not as bad as all
that, darling— ." Mr. Welles was disap-
pointed, yes— the quality he'd seen in her
hadn t come through on the screen— she
was either too young or too untrained to
project it— But he thought she had possi-
bilities and advised her to study-
Jeanne burst into sobs, which wasn't
like her, ran to her room and wept scald-
ing tears into her pillow. She'd had her
chance and missed it. Some people never
got a chance. Orson Welles himself had
given her one, and she hadn't been good
enough. That was what hurt most, that
Want to be Woo - some ?
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she hadn't been good enough—
Mother must have told Rita and Uad,
who tried to act as if nothing had hap-
pened. So did Jeanne. But in the middle
of the night, Mother heard her crying
again and came in—
"Darling, you must stop. It s not the end
of the world. He said he f still believes m
you — you can try again — ."
That was where Fate bowed out and
Jeanne took over. That's when she made
up her mind to be an actress. A challenge
had been hurled, and a challenge does
something to Jeanne. When anyone says,
"You can't," she says, "I will.
She began reading plays like mad. At
Inglewood High School she went in tor
dramatics, and Miss Lawrence, the coach,
gave her lots of encouragement. To please
Dad, she and Rita had transferred to Ingle-
wood, where he taught, though leaving bt.
Mary's was almost like leaving home.
When the bell rang that first day, Jeanne
forgot where she was and knelt down tor
prayers.
grid queen . . .
But Inglewood High was nice too, and
there were exciting new things like foot-
ball games. Jeanne wondered if she ought
to use make-up like the other girls, but
some of the boys seemed to like her not
using it, so she didn't— because they ex-
pected her not to. In February she had
all her credits, but took a couple of special
courses so as to graduate with her class
in June. And she was elected Grid Queen.
The ™tes were counted at a Friday eve-
ning football game that Jeanne wouldn t go
to-she felt a little shy. Then the crowd
came up to the house and put on a rib
—said what a shame she hadn't won and
carried on for an hour before they broke
down and told her. At the big game she
was carried around by four stalwart
I SAW IT HAPPEN
George Brent
stepped out of the
stage door of the
Columbia Broad-
casting Building
and was besieged
for autographs.
Many handed him
slips of paper, all
with the inscription:
W WmM,-^-^ -'Please send an
autographed picture
to the address given here." After
wearily signing autographs for a solid
hour, Brent hopped into his roadster
with a "thank you" to his fans for
asking for his signature (indeed a
rarity). Halfway up the block, some
of the tiny scraps of paper flew from
the window of the slowly moving car.
With many stars, 1 am sure, the
precious little papers would have just
lain in the street— not so with George
Brent! He stopped the car, got out
picked up all the white scraps, waved
to the wide-mouthed fans, and rode
on his way. ,
Speak against Brent, brother, and
here's one Brent-convert you will
have to contend with!
T/S' Stanley Weitz,
San Francisco,
California.
players in a sedan chair, and felt 90%
thrilled and 10% silly.
In the Fall she was going to Stantord,
and take a lot of dramatic work. But m
April everything happened at once—
It was just that they had nothing spe-
cial to do that Sunday. Earlier in the week,
a friend had phoned and told Mother about
this Camera Queen contest at Long Beach.
Mother told Jeanne, and Jeanne said no.
She didn't like contests, especially in bath-
ing suits — „
"You wear them on the beach, Kita
argued.
"That's different. Everybody wears them
on the beach. Nobody pays any special
attention to you — "
So the subject was dropped— for good,
Jeanne thought. Only the minute they got
home from church Sunday morning, Rita
started in again. "I've got a hunch about
it, Jeanne, and you know my hunches.
Please— just this once— and I'll never nag
you again. You ask her, Mother, she'll go
if you say so. Besides, it's such a lovely
day for a ride — "
Mother looked uncertainly from girl to
girl. "What can you lose, Jeanne?"
So she gave in, and Rita ran for the teal
blue bathing suit that turned Jeanne s
eyes green. Dad saw his women off with
an indulgent smile— silly business, he
thought, but let them enjoy themselves.
Not that he thought Jeanne would en]oy
it much. j r.
At the place where you registered, she
got cold feet. "It's awful to make yourself
so conspicuous — "
Rita brushed past her. "I'm going to
cross the Rubicon for you. Then you can t
back out—"
She went up to the desk. "Are you en-
tering?" asked the man.
"No, but my sister is, and shell win,
t0From then on, she watched her charge
like a hawk. Till Jeanne sighed: "If only
I had a gardenia for my hair. I d feel sort
of more dressed — " ,
"Keep an eye on her, Mother, warned
Rita and was gone. Back a few minutes
later she tucked the flower into Jeanne s
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hair. "There you are, lamb. All ready for
the slaughter — ."
Fifty girls on a rose-bowered platform.
One girl in teal blue, a gardenia in her
hair. Number 19— a favorite from the start.
The crowd clapped like mad, egged on by
a blonde child in their midst. "Yell for No.
19," yelled Rita. And no matter how loud
they yelled, you could hear Rita's voice
above all the rest.
the winnah . . .
The semi-finals. The finals. And then
the winnah! Jeanne Crain. They gave her
a cup, cameras clicked all over the place,
people closed in for autographs. Rita
dashed to a phone to call Dad, and dashed
back m triumph, reporting that even Dad
was thrilled. In the car, going home, Jeanne
was spent but happy. She turned her weary
head to smile at Rita. "My public," she
murmured.
A friend who heard the story and saw
the pictures knew Max Reinhardt. Rein-
hardt then held an option on "Song of
Bernadette." "He ought to see Jeanne," said
the friend. "Jeanne's the type for Berna-
dette. I'm going to call him—."
A week later, Jeanne was in the Rein-
hardt living room, reading a scene from
Bernadette" to the producer and his wife
and a few others. When she'd finished, they
all talked in German, which she didn't
understand, but their faces looked pleased
and the family friend said that Reinhardt
wanted to test her.
Just before they left, Mrs. Reinhardt
gave her two tickets. "For the play at our
theater Saturday night. I'd like you to
come."
She went with a boy from school. During
intermission, a man came up. "I'm Ivan
Kahn of Twentieth Century -Fox. I wonder
if you'd be interested in a screen test—"
Well— naturally," said Jeanne.
He took her phone number and said he'd
call on Monday. And then it got a little
embarrassing. All the studio talent scouts
cover these shows as a matter of course
But when you're standing there with a
boy, and two more men come up and ask
if you d like a screen test, making three
altogether, you feel sort of self-conscious
The other two were Solly Biano of War-
ners' and Milt Lewis of Paramount. Jeanne
said naturally she'd like a test, only Mr
Kahn had talked to her first.
Then she looked at the boy, and they
both laughed. And she asked him not to
say anything at school, because she hated
talking about things like that— anyway,
till you had something to talk about.
Except to the family, of course. That
night Mrs. Crain heard Jeanne come run-
ning, calling "Mother!" before she got
there — s
Rita was hardest to hold down. Jeanne
nnally had to make her vow to keeD
mum —
"All right," she vowed. "But if I explode
head™ ^ SmaU PieC6S' they'U be °n your
The call came Monday morning. Monday
afternoon she read a scene from "The
Barretts of Wimpole Street." Thursday, she
tested. In the mirror she didn't know her-
self. All that make-up and a slinky hairdo
and an evening dress that would have
looked wonderful on a Ziegfeld girl Her
heart sank. "It's not me they want It's
somebody else entirely—."
They signed her, though. Mother went
with her, and she felt all tight inside, but
looked calm where it showed. And that
night they had dinner and general re-
joicing at Granny's. Rita went kind of
crazy. My sister's in the movies," she
kept squealing. "Wait till I tell the girls
1 ve got a sister in the movies!"
Mr. Zanuck came back from the Service
but Jeanne couldn't know that would make
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-any difference to her. He didn't know she
was alive —
too much nothin' . . .
Sometimes she thought nobody else did,
either. Except the dramatic coach. Twice
a day she'd go out to work with the dra-
matic coach, just to show she was "eager.
But after four months the eager wings
drooped a little. She got awfully toed of
napping them in one room . . .
When the message came, she was out in
the backyard, drying her hair ...
"Mr Zanuck's office calling. Mr. Zanuck
wants to see all the people they signed
while he was gone. Can you be here in
an hour?" , ,
It didn't enter her head to dress up.
She went as she was, in slacks, with a ker-
chief round her hair. There was this long
green office, and she thought she'd never
get to the desk, but in two minutes she
was talking to Mr. Zanuck as if shed
known him always. Right away he asked
how old she was and where shed gone
to school. In a couple of sentences he found
out she knew French, and talked it to her.
She had a wonderful time, didn't feel awk-
ward a bit when he asked her to get up
and walk around the room so he could see
what she looked like. She even asked him
about her hair— people were constantly
Saying she wore it too long— _ n
"I don't want you to change it at all,^
Mr. Zanuck said. "I like you as you are.
Which was a great relief.
Then he said he wanted her to test tor
"Home In Indiana," and gave her the script.
She fell in love with the part— especially
because of the pigtails and blue jeans and
no make-up. Three days later they sent
for her, and— that's the funny thing about
studios— they don't come right out and say,
"You're going to do it." They call you
in and start talking about clothes and pro-
files and tell you to stand over there and
turn around, and you're afraid to believe
you've got it because anything can hap-
pen. Of course in the end you're just as
happy, but it's not as exciting as if they
said "It's yours," or shouted, "Eureka, a
star is born!" and you fainted or some-
thing. . . .
location lark . . .
After that, it was one thrill on top of
another. Going on location to Kentucky,
when she'd never been out of California
before. Learning to drive and ride. She
wouldn't tell them she'd never been on a
horse, she just climbed up and hung on.
Acting in her first picture. Strangely
enough, she wasn't nervous at all— prob-
ably because of no worry about clothes
and make-up. And because she and Lon
McCallister got along so well together that
they felt more like Char and Sparke than
themselves. Then, later, the opening at
Indianapolis and a big banquet and sell-
ing seven million dollars worth of War
Bonds and auctioning off a filly named
Jeanne Crain. Right after the dinner she
and Mother had to catch a tram, so they
never did see the picture till they got
home. By then Rita'd seen it thirteen
times. Even Dad had gone three times.
And Grandfather, who once owned horses,
was specially pleased by the way she han-
dled them. Jeanne didn't think she was as
good as they thought she was, but she was
glad they thought so.
Since then, the best thmg has been
"State Fair." And working with Mr. Cukor
in "Winged Victory." He taught her so
many things— like how to cry from inside,
which she'd never been able to do, be-
cause she'd never had very much to cry
about. • , ,
When Mr. Perlberg sent for her, she
had no idea what for. That's why she left
his office and walked down the hall m
a kind of trance, with the script hugged
My one cream instantly beautifies your
skin — and the proves it!
up to her. Somebody stopped her— she
still doesn't know who —
"What's this great light in your face?
Been seeing visions?"
For a moment she didn't answer. Then
she hugged the script closer. "Mr. Perl-
berg just gave me 'State Fair.' With Dana
Andrews. And Dick Haymes. In Techni-
color. And two songs to sing — "
He looked at her and smiled — the gentlest
smile. "It's wonderful, isn't it," he said, "to
be Jeanne Crain — "
happily ever after . . .
Two years ago they bought a white
house in Westwood. Now they've got a
fireplace in the den as well as the living
room, a«d a bedroom for each of the girls.
Rita's at UCLA and full of college spirit.
Nothing's nice but college, nothing mat-
ters but college, she talks college all day
long. In a way, they're both living two
lives. Jeanne, who planned on college,
knows all about it through. Rita, who
thought she might act and hears all about
acting from Jeanne.
Otherwise, things are pretty much the
same. Except for Jeanne's sleeping habits.
Mother has no trouble getting her up at
5:30 when she's working, and can't get
her up at 11 when she's not. Unless she's
on a picture, she does her own room, sets
the table, helps with dinner and the dishes.
Doesn't mind drying, but hates to wash.
She'd still rather draw than anything else
but act, and Rita's still her model. She
takes lessons in sculpture, and hopes to
build herself a studio some day. Evenings,
she'd read if they let her, only Rita makes
her quit to play gin rummy. They go to
the movies a lot— to all the good ones and
some of the bad ones, just to see how good
the good ones are. And Terry still dances
the polka, and people still don't believe
it when you tell them . . .
Her best friends at Loyola, whom she'd
normally go out with, are in the Air Corps.
There's no special boy, though she used
to see quite a lot of Lon when he was
here. They'd lie on the beach at Malibu
where he lives, and discuss philosophy and
read Conrad together, because he's so mad
about the sea. Now they write to each
other.
Once in a while she likes to dress up
and go dancing — especially the rumba.
Her favorite formal's blue and silver with
ruffles all the way down the skirt and
little wings in the back. She doesn't have
many or very expensive clothes— at 19,
you don't look particularly natural, all
dressed up. But when she's about 25, she'd
like to start being quite well-dressed. All
the jewelry she owns are a few little keep-
sake bracelets. She thinks lots of people
look well in costume jewelry, but not her-
self, and of course she can't afford any-
thing real. She does have a special perfume,
though. Mother gave them the idea that
it was kind of mysterious and romantic
to use just one, so people would remember
you . . .
"her ideal . . ."
Ingrid Bergman and Gregory Peck are
her movie ideals. She's never met Miss
Bergman and, to tell the truth, she doesn't
know Mr. Peck very well, either. But he's
nice to everyone, and he must have seen
her hanging adoringly round the set of
"Keys of the Kingdom." Because he spoke
to her once, and she got so flustered she
couldn't think what to say, except: "It
must be wonderful to work with Ingrid
Bergman."
She won't say what his answer was. But
we sleuthed and found out.
"Yes," said the nice Mr. Peck. "You
know what they call her, don't you? They
call her the Jeanne Crain of the Selznick
1 ,J
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109
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110
MOTHER AND I REMEMBER
(Continued from page 41)
1928 — They tell me Edmund Lowe got to this
sitting late, scrambled wildly into his costume
to keep Vic McLaglen from copping all the
space. Actually, though, they were good friends.
Vic once socked a guy who was heckling
Eddie. Here's fiery Lili Damita, when she
was to"ps at Fox and before she married Errol.
1929 — From .here on, you'll recognize these
faces. The .girl's Claire Luce with an i, not the
Congresswoman. And isn't Bogey the glamor
boy! The Fox lot on Pico opened that year,
still the prettiest in Hollywood, if I do say so.
1930 — I remember all the publicity about Con-
nie Bennett's contract, and asking Mother if
there was really all that money in the world.
We'd moved to H'wood, and I worked in kiddie
revues. Mother made my costumes, says she
never could get them short enough to suit me.
193 I --Here's another picture I loved, and every
one of us at TC-Fox today is thrilled over the
truly talented Jimmy Dunn's great comeback
in "A Tree Grows in Brooklyn." Those were
the days when Mother and I haunted Grau-
man's Chinese and gawked at the foot-
prints. Never expected to plant my legs there.
1934 — I remember Warner Baxter best in "Cisco
Kid," the first outdoor all-talkie. It made his-
tory. Raoul Walsh was directing and playing
Cisco, when a jackrabbit smashed through his
windshield in Zion Park and he lost an eye.
Warner replaced him as Cisco, Irving Cum-
mings as director, and both copped Oscars.
1935 — Big year for the studio. Shirley was
undisputed queen of the lot, Fox merged with
Twentieth Century, Darryl F. Zanuck became
production head — a lucky break for lots of folk,
including Betty Grable. Used to think no child
could ever be cuter than Shirley, till a cer-
tain Victoria Elizabeth James came along.
f'f
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HOMOGENIZED
1936 — Sundays we'd go to a show, see those
billboards advertising Simone. But when the
picture came out, all the raves were for a good-
looking boy who appeared in just one scene
at the end. Boy by the name of Ty Power
1937 — |f you think Ty looked good in pictures,
girls, you should have seen him in his Marine
Lieutenant's uniform! Spent his last leave in
New York with Annabella before she went
overseas to entertain troops. Now he's on duty
in the Pacific area, flying transport plane DC-3.
112
1938 — I've always been crazy about Alice and
her lovely voice. Imagine the thrill when TC-Fox
signed me years later and put me into "Tin
Pan AHey." It was Alice who helped me over
the jitters. She's still my best friend and our
babies exchange Xmas and birthday gifts.
1939 — Instead of "Hello" on the phone, Peter,
my nephew, says "Ameche." Mother takes him
to movies Saturdays — says it's as bad as when
we were little kids whooping it up' and down the
aisles. Each week she swears off. Till Peter calls.
"Ameche, grandma. What'll we see today?"
1940 — Boys are writing like mad for pin-ups
of Linda in her can-can costume from "Hang-
over Square." Hank enlisted as Apprentice'
Seaman, now he's full Lieutenant on Admiral
Hoover's staff in the So. Pacific. Asked his wife
to send garden seeds, case he's land-based.
1941 — Mother'd like me to make one pic where
I don't spend most of my time getting sore at
the guy. Chief Bosun Mate Vic's on tour with
the Coast Guard show. He's writing his auto-
biography called "The Great Conceit." It goes:
"We met, we married, we divorced. That's all!"
Gol?IiUDE N'ESEN
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113
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1942 — Day after Pearl Harbor, I ran into Johnny
Payne. "Shores of Tripoli" (with Maureen
O'Hara) was just about finished. He told me
they were changing the ending. "But for the
Japs it's just the beginning." A few months
later he was in uniform — served for two years —
honorably discharged because of a back injury.
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1943 — Never can decide who s lovelier, Maureen
O'Hara or Jeanne Craine. In '25, 3-time Oscar
winner Walter Brennan (with J. in "Home In In-
diana") shared casting woes with Gary Cooper
— was "discovered" 12 years after his pal! Walt
calls his Oregon ranch "High-Handed Manor!"
1944 — We were all so excited over "Wilson."
we kept running down to the set every chance
we got, never mind our own pictures. Bill
Eythe begged to be in it, if only as a door-knob
in the White House. Day after the preem, we
knew it was really tops, serenaded the boss:
"Hat's off to Zanuck, and Twentieth Century-Fox."
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1944 — Dick's in "State Fair" now with Jeanne
Crain. June's my "Dolly" sister. In make-up and
costume, they say we really look alike. Inci-
dentally, we're both mad about avocados, keep
a salt-cellar in my dressing room and devour
them between takes. Doesn't cost us a cent,
though — Harry James lets me pick 'em off his tree.
&sfi>
1945 — Bil1 Ey+he saw Lon M. on his way East.
Says he's proud as a 4-^tar general because
he's just been promoted— to a pfc! Bill was sup-
posed to get three months off. Had just about
time to say Hi! to his folks when they called him
back to play Dr. Jeff Turner in "DragonwycL"
I SAW IT HAPPEN
It was just after
§f Jeanette MacDon-
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The crowd gath-
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and, she was wait-
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Miss MacDonald aptly replied, "For a
country boy, you're not so green!"
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Cincinnati, Ohio
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see Harry again, for the first time m a
year and to find him in exceptionally good
spirits. He threw out that typical James
greeting, "How ya be, Leonard?" and fol-
lowed it up with, "Here, try some of the
best birthday cake you ever tasted. It
was, too.
We tried to figure out who of the orig-
inal 1939 James band was still left, and
found that Al Monte, Harry's assistant
manager, is the only remaining member of
the initial James line-up. "What frantic
times those were," recalled Harry. ' I re-
member the first date the band ever
played, at the University of New Hamp-
shire. There was a raging blizzard and
we barely made it at all— finally got there
four hours late!"
It's a far cry from that first James band
to the bunch Harry heads today, which
seems to me to be his best ever. With men
like Willie Smith, the terrific alto sax man;
Arnold Ross, a great young pianist; Corky
Corcoran playing more tenor sax than ever,
and other great soloists, such as Allan
Reuss, guitar; Ray Heath and Juan Tizol,
trombones, and Harry himself playing some
fine jazz on the jump numbers, this^ band
has everything. Johnny Thompson's ar-
rangements, and others written by Billy
May and similarly talented writers, make
the James band jump more often and more
excitingly than it did in his "You Made
Me Love You" phase.
On the way home I saw or heard about
some curiosities of this mad town. This is
the city where they have a "Corn-egie
Hall," a place called "Dyspeptic Bill's," a
"Coo-Coo Nut Grove," a "Hangover Club,
and a real estate agent whose name is
Jackson Diggs. Solid, Jackson!
SATURDAY— Spent a delightful evening
visiting one of Hollywood's most charming
and sweetest-natured people, Lena Home.
I've known her since her Charlie Barnet
era, and if success has done anything to
her, it's made her more modest and unas-
suming than ever. Lena's home, believe
it or not, is on Horn Avenue in Beverly
Hills. Met her two delightful children,
Teddy and Gail, and her mother. Heard
some of the special discs she recorded for
the Army. With her movie work held up
while they find her a suitable story, Lena's
been spending a great deal of her time
entertaining in camps.
SUNDAY — Shorty and Jean Cherock
took me out for an afternoon at Horace
Heidt's ranch. Shorty, who's rapidly be-
coming one of my favorite trumpet men,
will have left Heidt by the time you read
this and will be breaking in a new big
band of his own.
Horace, who plans to disband his own
orchestra, has every reason for wanting
to take it easy. As we drove through the
gates of his "Double-H Ranch" in the San
Fernando Valley, I could see that he has
what most traveling bandleaders would
consider the nearest thing to paradise in
the way of a home. Acres and acres of
perfectly kept ground, a gloriously fur-
nished home, plus swimming pool, aviary,
an open-air bar, and numerous cows,
horses, turkeys and rabbits. (Horace says
he expects to have 10,000 rabbits by my
next visit.) With the smart, chic Mrs.
Adeline Heidt and their twin sons to make
it a happy family, this is a home to be
proud of. Horace has so many outside
business ventures, such as a ballroom (the
"Trianon" in South Gate) and even a
Horace Heidt School for Stammering, that
he hardly needs the band, anyway. As I
basked in the sunshine and picked oranges,
tangerines and grapefruit off branches, I
reflected that it pays for a smart business
man to be a bandleader; and I wondered
whether, some day, Shorty Cherock might
have a swimming pool.
TUESDAY— Lunch with Modern Screen s
own affable Sylvia Wallace at the Brown
Derby, where I also ran into Bob Chester,
latest of the many bandleaders to renounce
the road and settle down in California.
Bold told me he's just reorganizing a band,
but strictly for jobs in and around the
coast. Also just in town to make their
home here are Bobby Dukoff , the fine tenor
sax man who just left Jimmy Dorsey, and
his wife, singer Anita Boyer.
Held a rehearsal of the Esquire Ail-
American Jazz concert this evening. Like
all rehearsals, it was a panic, with the pro-
moter, the publicity man, the producer, the
Union man and a dozen other interested
parties all wrangling back and forth. Duke
Ellington arrived late and imperturbable
as ever, and once he took charge things
began to sound organized. Billy Strayhorn,
Duke's pint-size assistant arranger, had to
be cajoled into playing piano on a couple
of numbers. Can't understand why he's
so reluctant, since he's a great pianist.
WEDNESDAY— Well, the concert went
off wonderfully, after the usual round of
last-minute crises. Billie Holiday, Art Ta-
tum and the Ellington band were the big-
gest thrills for me. Billie scared every-
one to death by arriving at the Philhar-
monic about five minutes before she was
due onstage. Danny Kaye did a successful
emcee job; people thought he would try
too hard to gag up the show, but he didn't.
Later went with Kitty Kallen, my date for
the evening, to a midnight recording ses-
sion at which Anita O'Day was doing four
sides under her own name for Capitol.
She had to fly out next day to rejoin Stan
Kenton's band in Kansas City. I left around
3 A.M.; heard later that the recording
went on until almost 6.
THURSDAY— There's a little strip of
ground along Vine Street, between Holly
wood and Sunset, where you can stand in
mid-afternoon and meet just about every
I SAW IT HAPPEN
Bob Hope hap-
pened to be stop-
ping at the hotel
which was being
managed by my
brother-in-law , so I
had my first chance
to see a celebrity,
and, incidentally, a
swell one! Bob had
a sleek and shining
automobile at that
time and it was the delight of every
bellboy and garage assistant to take a
peek at it every so often. One par-
ticular bell-hop developed an in-
satiable desire to actually go joy-
riding in this jewel of a car. He bor-
rowed it and the inevitable happened:
Crash! Bang! The car was a mess!
Bob Hope took it in his stride. He
went to the management without
hesitation and surprised the apologetic
staff by saying that the whole incident
was to be forgotten, and if the bell-
boy were fired, he and his friends
would never patronize the hotel again.
Result: one lucky and happy and
Hope-worshipping bellboy.
John Schneider,
Philadelphia, Pa.
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117
I
j Of course you know
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CRAMPS - HEADACHE - BLUES
ns
A Product of General Drug Company
one in music business. It's the unofficial
Tin Pan Alley of the coast, right outside
an office building where most of the song
publishers are located, and right down the
street from NBC, CBS and a big record
shop called Music City. Strolling down
there this afternoon I ran into Wingie
Manone, just back in town after a short-
lived venture with a big band in New
York; Ray Bauduc and Gil Rodin, two
alumni of the old Bob Crosby band who,
recently out of the Army, are now start-
ing a band of their own. Also met Bill
Harty, Ray Noble's manager, who advised
me to look out for Ray's new Columbia
record, "The Charm of You," and Dave
Dexter, of Capitol records, who said he's
waxing an all-star session with Al Casey,
Sid Catlett and Willie Smith.
Right next to this strip of sidewalk is
the Tropics, where you can find just about
everyone at the bar or in a booth during
the late afternoon. I wandered in and im-
mediately found Bing Crosby and Frank
Sinatra discussing an Army broadcast
they're to do together.
FRIDAY — This morning I made a rec-
ord session for Black & White Records, re-
uniting the talents of the original Spirits
of Rhythm, Leo Watson and Teddy Bunn.
Leo, who is best known ^or his "Shoot The
Likker To Me, John Boy!" on an old
Artie Shaw record, had everybody in hys-
terics with his weird scat-singing. He
ought to be known as the James Joyce of
Jazz. He sings just as though he were
blowing a trombone, and although the
words and syllables that roll out are mean-
ingless, they have a colossal swing and
beat. The special version of "Honeysuckle
Rose", ("Honey-Soek-Me-On-The-Nose")
ought to be a hit.
SATURDAY — Went over to CBS to
catch the rehearsal of the Danny Kaye-
Harry James show. As I walked in back-
stage Harry was hollering, "Hey, somebody
take care of this, there's a serviceman
outside with 16,000 medals on and they
won't let him in because he hasn't got a
ticket." The ushers declared the theater
was full up, but Harry still saw to it that
the disappointed soldier got a break.
Pretty soon, Harry told me, he's going
to line up some ideas for a record album —
something to show off every facet of the
band's talent, with a sextet number, a clas-
sical adaptation, ballads, jump tunes and
everything. From there he slid easily into
his favorite topic of baseball, and of how
the manpower shortage might affect the
baseball season.
Later on, to kill time before the show,
Harry and Danny Kaye and a couple of
guys from the band started on a wonder-
ful burlesque jam session for their own
private amusement, playing some real corn
on 25-year-old tunes, with guitarist Allan
Reuss on the bass fiddle, and Harry and
Danny taking turns at the drums (Harry,
of course, is really a good drummer) . Wish
some of his fans could have heard this.
MONDAY— Over to Shepp's Playhouse,
in L. A., for the opening of Eddie ("Begin
the Beguine") Hey wood and his marvelous
little band. Vic Dickenson, the trombonist,
has as much agility and inspiration as
Tommy Dorsey and Jack Teagarden put
together! Eddie told me he expects to
start on his first movie soon. This is the
most original small orchestra to come up
since John Kirby's and it can't help going
places.
TUESDAY— Caught the Dick Haymes-
Helen Forrest rehearsal and broadcast. I've
seen Helen as a brunette, a brownette and
a redhead, and can't quite get used to her
as a blonde. Visiting Dick was his ex-
manager, "Bullets" Durgom, now in the
Army. After the show I had a dinner in-
vitation from Mr. & Mrs. Dave Barbour.
Dave is the former Benny Goodman gui-
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tarist, now playing on "Blondie" and a lot
of other network shows; Mrs. Barbour is,
of course, the blonde and gorgeous Peggy
Lee, who left the Goodman band to marry
Dave in 1943 and is now the proud mother
of 18-months-old Nicki Barbour.
The Barbours seem to be one of the
happiest families in the music business.
Peggy is semi-retired except for an occa-
sional record date; last week she did four
sides for Capitol and Dave got a band to-
gether to accompany her. Two of the tunes
were Peggy's own "What More Can A
Woman Do" and "You Was Right, Baby!"
and they'll both surprise you.
FRIDAY— Dropped in on Charlie Barnet
at the Orpheum Theater and sat talking
so long backstage, despite my determina-
tion to make an early night of it, that
Charlie finally said, "Come on out to my
house and we'll play some records." He
has a neat little home in the Valley, with
a well-stocked bar, and phonographs all
over the place — but hardly any Barnet
records; mostly Delius, Ellington, Debussy,
Ravel, etc. Charlie, too, has settled down
out West and will only make occasional
brief trips out of this territory. Barnet is
a strange character, much less wild than
his reputation. Most people are either
nuts about him or hate him; personally, I
see eye to eye with him on so many mat-
ters musical that we can't help but get
along.
SATURDAY— Lunch with Jimmy Mc-
Hugh, who wrote "Exactly Like You,"
"Sunny Side of the Street" and don't ask
me how many other evergreens of jazz.
Telling me he wants to have his own pub-
lishing house, he scared me by announc-
ing that he had just offered one publisher
a million bucks, cash, to buy his business.
AUTOGRAPHS !
Good deed Dottie? Here's
something that's good for you
and others, too. Have your
-screen favorite sign on the dot-
ted line. You have the auto-
graph; your quarter increases
the Naval Aid Auxiliary Fund.
See page 140.
Guess there must be money in songwrit-
ing, at that. Jimmy reminisced at great
length about the old Cotton Club days;
he played a big part in discovering Duke
Ellington, and wrote all the hit songs for
the Club during Duke's first triumphant
years there.
TUESDAY— This evening I made a be-
lated trip to the Palladium to catch Gene
Krupa. I was somewhat perturbed to find
Gene conducting so much and playing
drums so little, also to hear the string
section scraping away on things like "Clair
de Lune" and a lot of other items that just
don't seem to connect with the Krupa
name. But Gene is firmly sold on the idea
that versatility is important, and feels
that he's expanding his musical scope. Per-
sonally, I got my biggest kicks out of the
trio numbers, with pianist Napoleon and
tenor saxman Venturo supported by Gene
at the drums; and I'd trade the whole
string section for that one hot fiddle solo
played by Remo Biondi on "Hodge Podge."
WEDNESDAY — Shorty Cherock made
some fine records this morning on a ses-
sion I helped to organize. We used Willie
Smith, Corky Corcoran and Harry James'
excellent rhythm section, waxing four
numbers for the Signature label, including
two of my own: "Snafu" and "The Willies."
THURSDAY— Well, it's goodbye to Cal-
ifornia, and don't think it hasn't been
swell. I've heard an awful lot of good
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119
Scalp odor— that's what her hair-
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So many women don't realize that
the scalp perspires, too . . . that hair—
and particularly oily hair— absorbs un-
pleasant odors. Yes, you can have
scalp odor — and not know it.
But it's easy to be safe— just by
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122
/X those hot tired
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ABSORBINE Jr.
in sections. Take a small strand, form a
circle at the end and wrap the curl around
this circle toward the scalp. Fasten the
curl in place with hair pins or bob pins.
Which is your style? Most any that
pleases you . . . and suits your type! Leaf
through these pages, find the movie coif
that clicks with you, and then adapt it,
bearing these "don'ts" in mind. If you
have a long, narrow face, don't wear a
pomp, don't wear hair high on top unless
it's soft and fluffy at the sides, don't
wear it severely sleek, don't wear a long,
straight bob. If you have a broad, short
face don't wear bangs, don't wear your
hair fluffed out at the sides, don't part it
exactly in the center, don't wear a short
bob.
Brilliantine is tops for luster and sheen.
If your hair splits at the ends, use a little
brilliantine on the tips. Take as much
as would cover a dime, rub it in the palms
of your hands, then lightly touch the ends
of your hair. To keep escaping tresses
where they belong, there are dandy comb-
like retainers with split teeth that slip
neatly into place and hold your hair in a
firm but loving grip. If you're in a gay
mood and want to wear flowers or a bright
bow in your hair, these gadgets are ideal.
With Spring, hair goes up and hats tilt
at a more cock-eyed slant. Lacquer will
keep back wisps neat. Some gals dispose
of the back hair problem by nets — coarse,
brilliantly colored jobs or fine ones that
team with hair shade. To keep your hair
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SPRING SONG— It's the season to try out
new tricks and ideas, so make hair beauty
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It's up to you to give them a chance!
* * *
Keep them coming! I've got the names of
hair-care products and if you have prob-
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But do play fair. Don't forget to include
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Carter, Beauty Editor, Modern Screen, 149
Madison Ave., New York 16, N. Y.
I SAW IT HAPPEN
A friend and I
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man rushed past
us and practically
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loop. Without so
much as a "pardon me" or an "I'm
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I paid little attention to the incident
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I were the young lady who had been
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said that he hoped that he hadn't hurt
me. By that time I was gasping for
breath, and I'm afraid that my eyes
were doing a good imitation of Eddie
Cantor, because it had at last dawned
on me that this nice looking chap
seemed very much like our hometown
actor, Franchot Tone. After convinc-
ing him that I was still in one piece,
we said goodbye and walked jauntily
down the street. Later, when Franchot
Tone made a personal appearance at
our high school, I found out that it
really had been he, and then I got his
autograph on my handkerchief.
Dorothy Dodge,
Niagara Falls, N. Y.
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IF I COULD BE WITH YOU
(Continued from page 59)
either, as long as she had Gene. It was
more fun to concentrate on being Mrs.
Kelly, wife and mother.
on with the show . . .
But his going away put a different face
on things. They talked it over and decided
it would be silly for Betsy to sit around
twiddling her thumbs, waiting for Gene
to get back. There was a play called "Out
of this World," scheduled for winter pro-
duction, written by Modern Screen's Zach-
ary Gold and Allen Marple. Maynard Mor-
ris, the agent, had always wanted Betsy
to do it. So, with Gene on the last lap
of "Anchors Aweigh," she went to New
York to be interviewed by the authors.
Though she'd made her mark on Broad-
way in Saroyan's "Beautiful People," she'd
never been interviewed. How she got the
other part was a beautiful accident. One
night she'd gone to meet Gene at Louis
Berger's, their favorite Broadway eating
place, and a man had been sitting at the
table with him, and the man was Saroyan.
When Gene introduced them, Saroyan
said, "She's got to do the lead in my new
play!" It was all very exciting and story-
bookish, clear through the opening night
and the lovely notices in the papers next
morning.
Then she married Gene, and for three
years the stage was out of her life. She
had no idea how you handle an interview.
But it worked out fine, because this was
the author's first play, and they were al-
most as nervous as she was.
"What are we supposed to ask you?"
they asked her.
"I don't know. My name, age and ex-
perience, I guess."
"Well, we know your name and your
age is too young to matter and you played
in Saroyan's 'Beautiful People.' What
next?"
"Next, I think I'm supposed to read
something from the play — "
So she did, and they liked it and signed
her for the part. Rehearsals were to start
December 1st. She had to wait around
New York while certain details were
ironed out, and that was all right, because
New York was beautiful in October—
though not so beautiful as when Gene was
there, too. She spent most of her time at
Louis Berger's, because it felt more like
home than her room, at the hotel.
One day Louis said, "I see in the papers
that Gene's being drafted. Gene and John
D. Rockefeller, Jr."
"Oh, that's nothing," said Betsy. "I don't
know about Mr. Rockefeller, but it's al-
ways saying in the paper that Gene's being
drafted." B
Still, she wired him. "Oh, that's nothing,"
he wired back, "I haven't heard from my
draft board."
Next day he phoned. She knew right
away what it was, because he wouldn't
phone except about something important.
Those Greetings had come. Her main feel-
ing was: Here I've wasted three weeks
in New York, when I might have been
with Gene. She couldn't get train reserva-
tions, so she took a chance on a plane,
and was lucky enough not to get bumped
off.
He met her at the airport. Neither of
them said much. Gene hates what he calls
slush. Besides, he'd been ready, willing and
able for a long time. Betsy doesn't suppose
many men leap with joy exactly when
their time comes — especially when they're
married and have children. Still, there's
one big compensation. Being out of it
makes them feel kind of dislocated. When
31 >k
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music, and enjoyed a lot of wonderful hos-
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Best band I heard: Ellington, of course-
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RECORDS OF THE MONTH
Editor's Note: Here's a swell way for
you record collectors to build up a li-
brary of nothing but the best. Each
month Leonard Feather will do the same
job for you that he did for Look Maga-
zine— make up a three-way list of the
10 best popular songs, the 10 best hot
jazz items, and the 10 best albums of
all kinds— of that month. If you can't
get a particular record from your local
dealer, one of the following may have
it: Decca Records, Inc., 50 W. 57th St.,
N. Y.; RCA Victor Division (Victor and
Bluebird records), 155 E. 24th St., N. Y.;
Columbia Records, 799 Seventh Ave.,
N. Y.; Asch Recording Co., 117 W. 46th
St., N. Y.; Hit Record Distributing Co.,
7 W. 46th St., N. Y.; Blue Note Music &
Recording Studio, 767 Lex. Ave., N. Y.;
Capitol Records Distributing Co., Inc.,
225 W. 57th St., N. Y., or 1483 No. Vine,
H'wood, Cal.; National Records, 1841
B'way, N. Y. 23, N. Y.; Savoy Records,
58 Market St., Newark, N. J.; Jump Rec-
ords, 1132 Tamarind Ave., H'wood 28,
Cal.; Session Records, 125 No. Wells,
Chicago; Black & White Recording Co.,
Inc., 21-17 Foster Ave., B'klyn, N. Y.
POPULAR
I Didn't Know About You— Duke El-
lington (Victor), Woody Herman
(Decca)
I Wanna Get Married — Gertrude
Niesen (Decca), Louis Prima (Hit)
I Begged Her — Frank Sinatra (Co-
lumbia)
Don't You Know I Care— Duke El-
lington (Victor), Jimmy Dorsey
(Decca)
More and More — Perry Como (Vic-
tor), Horace Heidt (Columbia)
Saturday Night — Hal Mclntyre
(Bluebird), Woody Herman
(Decca)
Every Time We Say Goodbye — Benny
Goodman (Columbia), Stan Ken-
ton (Capitol)
Dream— The Pied Pipers (Capitol)
Let's Take the Long Way Home — .
Dinah Shore (Victor), Bing Cros-
by (Decca)
I Wonder — Louis Armstrong (Dec-
ca), Louis Prima (Hit)
HOT JAZZ
Roy Eldridge— Fish Market (Decca)
Harry James Sextet — Confessin' (Co-
lumbia)
Artie Shaw— 'S Wonderful (Victor)
Cootie Williams — Somebody's Got to
Go (Hit)
Joe Turner-Pete Johnson — S. K. Blues
(National)
Joe Marsala— Don't Let It End (Black
& White)
Ike Quebec— Tiny's Exercise (Blue
Note)
Johnny Guarnieri — Gliss Me Again
(Savoy)
Charlie Lavere— Lazy River (Jump)
Pete Brown— Pete's Idea (Session)
ALBUMS
Marian Anderson — Songs and Spir-
ituals (Victor)
Walter Gieseking— Grieg Piano Con-
certo in A Minor (Columbia)
Mary Lou Williams Trio (Asch)
Bloomer Girl (Decca)
Three Caballeros (Decca)
Stuff Smith Trio (Asch)
Art Tatum Trio (Asch)
Bunny Berigan Memorial (Victor)
King Cole Trio (Capitol)
Meade Lux Lewis (Asch)
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SPRING GOES TO
YOUR HEAD
(Continued from page 66)
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A good lather is so essential! Work the
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Hollywood idea. . . rinse, then treat your-
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Keep at the rinsing until your hair is
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Rinse very coarse, naturally curly hair in
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THE FINISHED PICTURE— With a little
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Scalp odor— that's what her hair-
brush would have told her if she had
checked up. Too late, now. He's gone.
So many women don't realize that
the scalp perspires, too . . . that hair—
and particularly oily hair— absorbs un-
pleasant odors. Yes, you can have
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using Packer's Pine Tar Shampoo reg-
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Don't take a chance— and risk losing
romance. Use Packer's Pine Tar Sham-
poo regularly. You can
get it at any drug, de-
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1111
_ those hot tired
feet with refreshing
ABSORBINE Jr.
in sections. Take a small strand, form a
circle at the end and wrap the curl around
this circle toward the scalp. Fasten the
curl in place with hair pins or bob pins.
Which is your style? Most any that
pleases you . . . and suits your type! Leaf
through these pages, find the movie coif
that clicks with you, and then adapt it,
bearing these "don'ts" in mind. If you
have a long, narrow face, don't wear a
pomp, don't wear hair high on top unless
it's soft and fluffy at the sides, don't
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face don't wear bangs, don't wear your
hair fluffed out at the sides, don't part it
exactly in the center, don't wear a short
bob.
Brilliantine is tops for luster and sheen.
If your hair splits at the ends, use a little
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of your hands, then lightly touch the ends
of your hair. To keep escaping tresses
where they belong, there are dandy comb-
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With Spring, hair goes up and hats tilt
at a more cock-eyed slant. Lacquer will
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team with hair shade. To keep your hair
supremely neat, buy bob-pins with a
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SPRING SONG— It's the season to try out
new tricks and ideas, so make hair beauty
your new objective. You have the rules.
It's up to you to give them a chance!
* # *
Keep them coming! I've got the names of
hair-care products and if you have prob-
lems of face or figure, send them along.
But do play fair. Don't forget to include
a stamped, self-addressed envelope. Carol
Carter, Beauty Editor, Modern Screen, 249
Madison Ave., New York 16, N. Y.
I SAW IT HAPPEN
A friend and I
had gone into a
crowded drugstore
in Niagara and
were waiting to
purchase mer-
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man rushed past
us and practically
knocked me for a
loop. Without so
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me. By that time I was gasping for
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were doing a good imitation of Eddie
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seemed very much like our hometown
actor, Franchot Tone. After convinc-
ing him that I was still in one piece,
we said goodbye and walked jauntily
down the street. Later, when Franchot
Tone made a personal appearance at
our high school, I found out that it
really had been he, and then I got his
autograph on my handkerchief.
Dorothy Dodge,
Niagara Falls, N. Y.
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IF I COULD BE WITH YOU
(Continued from page 59)
either, as long as she had Gene. It was
more fun to concentrate on being Mrs.
Kelly, wife and mother.
on with the show . . .
But his going away put a different face
on things. They talked it over and decided
it would be silly for Betsy to sit around
twiddling her thumbs, waiting for Gene
to get back. There was a play called "Out
of this World," scheduled for winter pro-
duction, written by Modern Screen's Zach-
ary Gold and Allen Marple. Maynard Mor-
ris, the agent, had always wanted Betsy
to do it. So, with Gene on the last lap
of "Anchors Aweigh," she went to New
York to be interviewed by the authors.
Though she'd made her mark on Broad-
way in Saroyan's "Beautiful People," she'd
never been interviewed. How she got the
other part was a beautiful accident. One
night she'd gone to meet Gene at Louis
Berger's, their favorite Broadway eating
place, and a man had been sitting at the
table with him, and the man was Saroyan.
When Gene introduced them, Saroyan
said, "She's got to do the lead in my new
play!" It was all very exciting and story-
bookish, clear through the opening night
and the lovely notices in the papers next
morning.
Then she married Gene, and for three
years the stage was out of her life. She
had no idea how you handle an interview.
But it worked out fine, because this was
the author's first play, and they were al-
most as nervous as she was.
"What are we supposed to ask you?"
they asked her.
"I don't know. My name, age and ex-
perience, I guess."
"Well, we know your name and your
age is too young to matter and you played
in Saroyan's 'Beautiful People.' What
next?"
"Next, I think I'm supposed to read
something from the play — "
So she did, and they liked it and signed
her for the part. Rehearsals were to start
December 1st. She had to wait around
New York while certain details were
ironed out, and that was all right, because
New York was beautiful in October—
though not so beautiful as when Gene was
there, too. She spent most of her time at
Louis Berger's, because it felt more like
home than her room, at the hotel.
One day Louis said, "I see in the papers
that Gene's being drafted. Gene and John
D. Rockefeller, Jr."
"Oh, that's nothing," said Betsy. "I don't
know about Mr. Rockefeller, but it's al-
ways saying in the paper that Gene's being
drafted."
Still, she wired him. "Oh, that's nothing,"
he wired back, "I haven't heard from my
draft board."
Next day he phoned. She knew right
away what it was, because he wouldn't
phone except about something important.
Those Greetings had come. Her main feel-
ing was: Here I've wasted three weeks
in New York, when I might have been
with Gene. She couldn't get train reserva-
tions, so she took a chance on a plane,
and was lucky enough not to get bumped
off.
He met her at the airport. Neither of
them said much. Gene hates what he calls
slush. Besides, he'd been ready, willing and
able for a long time. Betsy doesn't suppose
many men leap with joy exactly when
their time comes — especially when they're
married and have children. Still, there's
one big compensation. Being out of it
makes them feel kind of dislocated. When
^tea^^ail^-^c^'(^rmce^ me/"
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NAME
ADDRESS
CITY
they go in, something clicks into place
and feels right.
Almost the worst thing for Gene would
be leaving Kerry, who was so cute and
funny at two-and-a-half. On the other
hand, he was infinitely better off than lots
of fathers who'd never seen their children
at all, whose children wouldn't know them
when they came home. Kerry knew Gene
so well and loved him so dearly, he was
such an inseparable part of her life that
she couldn't forget him, no matter how
long he'd be gone. Not with Betsy around,
she couldn't —
They didn't have long days together be-
fore Gene left, because he was working
like mad on the cartoon number of
"Anchors Aweigh." To get it done in time,
he had to work nights and Sundays. Every
evening Betsy'd go to the studio and have
dinner with him. They liked it that way
— doing the things they'd always done, not
trying to cram the time with a lot of gay
fun that wouldn't have come natural, any-
way. On one or two rare evenings at home,
they had their close friends in — the Whorfs,
the Hume Cronyns, Phil Silvers, Saul
Chaplin who plays the piano so beauti-
fully. They'd sing or sit round the fire
talking, and whoever got hungry went to
the kitchen and foraged. It had always
been their favorite kind of evening. They
wanted nothing different.
Gene passed his physical, asked for the
Navy and got it. There were things to be
arranged — none of them very important,
still they had to be talked over. The house
was easy. Nothing easier than getting rid
of a house in wartime. Then about taking
Mamie to New York. Mamie was wild
about Kerry and vice versa. But Mamie
had a sweetheart in Oakland and Betsy
had a fixed idea. She had to save money.
The big thing in her life while Gene was
gone would be not to spend money. She'd
find someone in New York to take care
of Kerry. If not, she could always park
the baby with her mother for a while —
There were also the cars. One car ought
to be sold right away, but which? Gene
left it to her. She hated selling the honey-
moon car. It was all tied up with their
wedding in Philadelphia and the cross-
country trip to Hollywood and tumble-
weeds. Gene promised to show her tumble-
weeds in Texas and they wore their eyes
out searching for tumbleweeds and never
saw one. She couldn't sell that car. The
other — ?
I SAW IT HAPPEN
On a train that
was chugging along
towards Plattsburg
one day, I found
myself seated next
to a gray -haired,
elderly gentleman,
who was coughing
terribly. He man-
aged to- sputter a
weak request for a
glass of water, so, of
course, I quickly brought him one.
That started our conversation, and
when he asked me to have lunch with
him, I was delighted by the oppor-
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about the source of all of his fasci-
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"But you gave me the other for our six-
month anniversary — "
"Yes, and it's newer — "
In the end, though it hurt to be sensible,
she sold the honeymoon car. It was only
a symbol, after all. Whoever bought it
couldn't buy her memories with it—
The last day came. Betsy didn't give
Gene a present. There was so little he
needed, and so many people wanted to
give him things. She'd thought of a
writing kit, though if anyone hated letter
writing worse than she did, it was her
husband. They were always excusing
themselves to each other for not writing
more often to their families. "It doesn't
mean a thing," Gene would say. "They
know we love them — "
Just the same, she'd practically decided
on a writing kit. Then a friend ph oned
and said, "Can I give him a writing kit?"
and she couldn't say no.
gift in a million . . .
One gift that touched both Betsy and
Gene deeply came from Modern Screen's
own Gus Gale, as thoughtful a guy as
ever snapped a shutter. He showed up
with his camera, took four pictures of
Kerry that turned out to be dillies, and
did them up in a little cellophane booklet
for Gene to carry in his wallet. Service,
that's us. Not that we're swiping the bows.
It was Gus's idea. Only when we heard
Betsy's fervent, "I love that man," we could
have kicked ourselves for not thinking of
it first.
The last night was like so many other
nights — the warm friendliness of firelight
and music and sitting around with the
people they were closest to. Some left
early— the Kelly's idea of early being
around one. A few stayed on. At three,
it seemed a brilliant idea to stay up all
night. At six, Betsy said, "If I'm going
to get Gene downtown by eight, maybe
I'd better sleep for half an hour." At six-
thirty, Gene followed suit. Just forty winks.
Wonderful what forty winks'll do for a
guy-
Gene was on a cornbeef-hash jag at the
time, so Mamie fixed one more breakfast
of hash and poached eggs and Betsy sat
opposite, with Kerry between them, beat-
ing her spoon against the highchair. Then,
in Mamie's arms, she was yelling, " 'Bye,
Daddy," and throwing kisses as they drove
away. And then Betsy and Gene were say-
ing goodbye— in the car, because there was
no place you could park —
She'd heard that the worst moment was
when you went home alone for the first
time, and the house felt so empty. Herself,
she can't put a finger on any worst mo-
ment. All the moments were part of the
one enveloping fact — that Gene was gone —
She was very good — didn't cry for over
a week — just started packing for New
York. It wasn't time to go yet, but seeing
your things standing around half packed
sort of gave you a sense of movement,
which was helpful. Then one night Saul
played "If I Could Be With You." It meant
nothing special to Betsy and Gene, it
wasn't their song or anything, but Gene
sang it so well that the gang always used
t& make him sing it alone. So when Saul
played it that night, Betsy cried. That's
all. Nothing to dwell on. Betsy doesn't like
slush, either.
One fine thing happened. Gene was sent
to boot camp at San Diego, and rehearsals
for the play were postponed — first to
December 15th, then to January 3rd. Which
meant that, for the time being, she and
Gene were only three hours apart. She
kept thinking how lucky she was that the
play had been postponed, and started
marking off days on the calendar. Because,
after three weeks, boots get a 12-hour
furlough.
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She wished she had more to do. With
Gene gone, even the marketing didn't
amount to much. She hated going to bed,
because she couldn't sleep. For hours, she'd
lie reading. Mornings, Mamie'd bring Kerry
in, shrieking, "Mommy! Daddy!" Finding
no daddy, she'd stand bewildered, then
she'd remember.- "Daddy Navy," she'd
squeal.
As a movie actor, Gene's had plenty of
pictures taken, any of which his daughter
was welcome to. But the one she adored
was on the cover of a magazine. Crum-
pled and smeared with kisses, it's seen
its best days, but Kerry refused to have
it moved from the table by her bed. She'd
pet it, cuddle it, make sheep's eyes at it.
"Daddy loves Kerry," she'd coo.
mama goes spartan . . .
Now that the responsibility was all hers,
Betsy worried more about the baby. In
matters of discipline, she and Gene hadn't
always seen eye to eye. If Kerry wanted
the ashtrays off the table, Betsy'd say,
"Let her. They're, so pretty and shiny, of
course she likes them. I don't care if she
breaks them, it's nothing, she's so little."
Not that Gene was exactly a Spartan par-
ent. He didn't care either, if she broke
them. "But she's not too little to learn
there are things she mustn't touch — "
Subconsciously, Betsy must have known
he was right. Now that he wasn't here to
hold the balance even, she tried to do it
herself.
But there were long stretches of the day
when Kerry didn't need her. They'd have
breakfast together, then the bus would call
to take Kerry off to nursery school. At
noon, she'd be back. But after lunch it
was Mamie who put her to bed for her
nap. Kerry's no dope. She knows she
can't bully Mamie. When Mamie ^says,
"You go to sleepy," she goes. When Mommy
says it, Kerry doesn't believe her.
At last the three weeks were up. Gene
expected to be off by noon, so Betsy took
a train down the night before. With a
perfectly good bed in a perfectly good
hotel, she couldn't sleep. By eight, she was
frantic. What was she going to do till noon?
Grabbing a book, she threw herself down
on the couch and next thing she knew,
Gene was waking her up. It was two
o'clock. "If I hadn't fallen asleep," she
assured him, "I'd have died."
together again . . .
He looked brown and fit and not a bit
I SAW IT HAPPEN
I saw it happen at
a GI dance in Hono-
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the Hawaiian, Haole,
Chinese and Korean
girls were outnum-
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to one. One very
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the belle of the ball.
It seemed to be the
ambition of every soldier, sailor, ma-
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her. I spotted her while she was
dancing with a boy of approximately
the same dimensions as Lou Costello
and maneuvered in their direction.
But I was out of luck, for a handsome
sailor swished her away. A few whirls
soon proved that her partner was no
mean dancer. Yes sir, he was solid!
No wonder — that sailor was Cesar
Romero, a great guy on the screen,
on the dance floor, or on the deck.
Sgt. Michael Armstrong,
San Francisco, Calif.
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different, except for the funny haircut.
Even the sailor suit didn't seem strange,
he'd worn one so long in "Anchors
Aweigh." First thing he wanted was a
chocolate soda and some razor blades. Just
walking down the street hand in hand with
him was wonderful. They'd walked dozens
of times hand in hand down dozens of
streets, but that's one thing separation does
for you. Lifts the simplest everyday acts
above the everyday level, brings their
sweetness alive, makes you feel you'll
never again take them for granted.
She told him all about Kerry. Then
about the picture. Stanley Donen, his
assistant, was still working on the cartoon
number. Betsy knew all about it. A trained
dancer herself, she's what she calls the
"big consultant type wife." Anything that
came up, Stanley'd phone her, and she'd
write it down to tell Gene.
He told her about camp. How much
easier it was for him than lots of the kids
who were younger and so darn homesick
they couldn't see straight. She'd heard
they razzed movie actors, was it true? No,
Gene said. Only time they tried to rattle
him was when he was doing his washing
the first day, and he looked up, and there
stood forty fellows watching him wash his
clothes. So he went right on washing, and
that was that. A few of them asked for
autographs. Not for themselves. "Because
I told my girl you were here and she
wouldn't believe me." The best thing about
camp was the sense of comradeship that
bound you together, all the truer and
stronger because it was never mentioned.
One night a kid was playing the harmonica,
and they asked Gene to dance, and he felt
it had nothing to do with the movies. He
was one of them, so they asked him — same
as they'd have asked any fellow who knew
*how to dance.
Back at the hotel, he was so tired that
he fell asleep before dinner. And after
dinner it was soon time to go back. Betsy
stayed overnight and got up in the black
six o'clock, and went home alone.
But before they parted, Gene surprised
her — about letters. "I guess it's different
when you're in the Navy," he said, "I
wish you'd write me some letters. And
I'll write, too."
To normal letter-writers, that may not
sound cataclysmic. But it was to the
Kellys. They wrote though— Betsy more
often than Gene, who was busier — and
found that the postal system had distinct
advantages over Western Union or even
the phone.
Not till the Monday before Christmas,
did they know for sure that Gene would
get home.i Betsy's great problem was the
tree. Should she trim it herself or wait
for him? He wouldn't be in till Saturday
night, and there might be other things
he'd rather do. So she trimmed it herself,
keeping Kerry out of the living room by
main force.
Then the waiting, and the phone call
from half an hour away — he'd hitched up
with some of the boys — and at last the
car stopping outside, and the sailor-suited
figure running up the walk, and Kerry
hurling herself at him like an animated
cannonball.
a sailor from santa . . .
They had a party that night and stayed
home all day Sunday. Gene's heart was
broken because he had no presents for
them. There just hadn't been any time for
shopping. Why he minded was because
Betsy's silly about presents — goes gaga
over anything done up in tissue and rib-
bons. But all the present she wanted that
Christmas had arrived done up in a USN
sailor suit. And if that's slush, there's
nothing she can do about it.
She gave him what he wanted most —
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more pictures of Kerry. There was also
a navy blue sweater her mother had
knitted and lots of candy for Gene's noto-
riously sweet tooth. And several friends
sent promissory notes for an extra-special
gift the Christmas after war's end. Gene
got an extra special wallop out of those.
Christmas Eve they made calls, and
wound up singing carols at Saul Chaplin's.
And on Christmas Day Betsy had another
present for them both— a present of time.
The last train for San Diego left at seven.
So she'd saved all her gas ration stamps
to drive Gene down. That way, he wouldn't
have to leave till 1 or 2 in the morning.
Stanley Donen went along, and it turned
out to be an adventure. The top of the
car was ripped, and before they'd gone far,
it started drizzling. Well, Stanley'd brought
some mending tape, just in case, and Betsy
was supposed to hold it and keep it from
twisting, while the boys covered the rips.
Only the stuff wouldn't stick —
"Gene, my hands are freezing — "
"All right, honey, let go — "
hot chili and fun .
And with that, the whole top ripped off
and went sailing down Vermont Avenue,
and Betsy stood helpless with laughter
while the boys tore after it — for all the
world like a Mack Sennett comedy. And
they had to drive topless all the way to
San Diego, with nothing to keep them
warm but their own hilarity and some hot
chili at a drive-in.
Word came that the play had been
shelved. Betsy was sorry, of course, but
she couldn't seem to get really worked up
about anything that didn't have Gene as
its focal point. He was still in San Diego.
More than acting in any play, she wanted
to stay put while he was so close.
> One week-end in January, she expected
him home. He phoned — said he'd be in
around dinnertime, but that wasn't all.
The naval base at Anacostia had put in a
request for him. He'd be leaving for Wash-
ington at noon next day.
There's nothing to tell about it. They
felt like any man and girl — like the mil-
lions of men and girls who love each other
and have to say goodbye without knowing
when they'll see each other again.
Business matters have come up to keep
Betsy in Hollywood. Her things are still
standing around, half -packed. She's hoping
to get to Washington while Gene's still
there. Meantime, there's one thing about
his being in the Navy. She gets to wear
his clothes — his mufflers and sweaters and
shirts. Some of her friends disapprove.
They don't think she looks her smartest
in them. But Betsy doesn't care. When
your husband's away, you're entitled to
all the comfort you can get from the feel
of his blue muffler round your neck.
I SAW IT HAPPEN
1 In W aycross ,
mk Ho Georgia, I went to
MR see a "Donkey
JBp Baseball Game."
^K£* There was one par-
ticipant who had
the crowd in hys-
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ON TOUR WITH SUE AND ALAN
(Continued jrom page 57)
use to a boy with two. Pretty soon the
guys would be gabbing away as if they'd
known him all their lives.
Sue, on the other side of the ward,
would be having just as good a time. They
were so happy to see her, these kids. They
got out pictures of their wives or girls, and
Sue, who likes people — all people, listened
to every detail with absorbed interest,
merry mix-up . . .
One time she thought she had run into
a little trouble. She went up to a bed and
said to the young man in it, "Hello. I'm
Sue Carol. Alan Ladd's wife."
The boy looked up at her. "I'm sorry."
His eyes conveyed nothing.
Sue swallowed. Obviously he didn't want
to be bothered. "Uh— I didn't mean to in-
trude. I'll go along now."
He sat up then. "No, no, I just said 'I'm
Sorry.' My name's Howard Sorry."
Sue giggled like mad. She said, "Let's
get Alan over here, and you give him the
same routine." So she sat and chortled
inwardly while Alan turned spectacular
shades of crimson just as she had.
The soldiers loved having the two of
them there together. A family. It made
the ward seem more homey, somehow.
Like when the orange juice was passed out,
and Alan was handed a glass. He doesn't
like orange juice. "Could I have milk in-
stead, please?" he inquired.
Sue descended upon him, very wifely.
"You drink that orange juice," she said
severely. "It's full of vitamins."
The ward howled with laughter. "Tough
guy Ladd! So you're henpecked, too." And
Alan grinned and meekly drank the juice.
Doing the wards this way had been
Alan's idea and he'd met with a lot of ob-
jections. Everyone had been pretty skepti-
cal about how it would work. "Can't you
do anything?" the authorities inquired.
"Put on some sort of act?"
"Let's try it my way a couple of times
and see how it goes," Alan suggested in
his deep, quiet voice. Well, there was no
question about how it went. It was ter-
rific. The Ladds covered the hospitals in
the whole Northwest— they figure they
I SAW IT HAPPEN
Roddy McDow-
all was in Cincin-
nati and I was
there with bells
on. I found a seat
in the first row and
started a conver-
sation with the
lady who was
seated next to me.
7 told her of my
excitement at the
thought of seeing a real movie star.
She smiled and said that after all they
were just like other people. Finally,
Roddy came out, and wild applause
rang through the crowd. Only the
woman at my right failed to clap.
"Didn't you like him?" I gasped.
"Well," she replied, "should I clap for
my own son?" What a surprise! She
invited me to come backstage with
her, so that I might meet Roddy per-
sonally. Naturally, I accepted. And
Roddy was so perfectly friendly and
natural that it was one of the pleas-
antest experiences I've had.
Jack Mullaney,
Cincinnati, Ohio
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traveled about twenty thousand miles all
together. And the report from every single
hospital was not only favorable but en-
thusiastic.
There was one case that makes Alan feel
sort of warm and glowing every time he
thinks about it. A boy who'd had a piece
of shrapnel in his brain. The shock had
affected the nerves controlling his speech,
and he could say just two words. They
were "Oh, Gosh." He used them to convey
joy, despair or boredom by varying the
inflection. But he couldn't say another
single thing. Well, it seems he had always
been a fan of Alan's. So the doctors
brought the Ladds around to cheer him up.
Alan chatted with him a while and the kid
said "Oh, Gosh" in a number of tones. Then
all of a sudden he began talking along
perfectly normally. Seeing Alan there in
the flesh had, in some miraculous manner,
released the mechanism in his brain. "Just
that one thing would have made the
whole trip worth while," Alan told Sue
that night.
What the boys got the biggest kick out
of was having him sit down and play poker
with them. "That deadpan look gives you
a head start," they'd grumble, kidding. Of
course he could only play a few minutes
in each ward, there were so many people
to see.
"Come on, honey, we've got to go," Sue
would urge from the doorway.
AUTOGRAPHS I
"He loves me, he loves me
not — ." Oh, well, never mind,
you can get his autograph, any-
way. Just fox him by peeking
at page 140.
"Women are always like that when you
get a poker game started," someone would
moan. "You aren't going to quit when
you're ahead, without giving us a chance
to get our dough back, are you, Ladd?"
"Next time!" Alan would say, and grin.
Sue pulled a trick on the boys that
really had them fooled. She'd stand up in
the back of the room and say sort of sur-
reptitiously, "Hey, any of you fellows want
to see a picture of a nude woman?"
paris postcards . . .
They'd look at her, completely shocked.
Because here they had just been thinking
how sweet she was, how much like their
own wives and sweethearts. But they
were curious, too. They would sidle over
to her, and one of them would take a quick
look at the picture she held in her hand.
He would roar with laughter and say,
"Come on, you guys! Get a load of some-
thing really hot!" The picture, of course,
was of little Alana in the bathtub, looking
very blonde and completely cherubic. That
got over big, with the men whipping out
pictures of their own offspring, and com-
paring notes with Sue on the amount of
spinach consumed for dinner.
Alan had one experience that will al-
ways stick in his memory. They visited a
hospital filled with nothing but amputation
cases. He was talking to a Special Services
officer outside the building when a truck-
load of men came by. The truck stopped
with a jerk and the men yelled, "Hey,
Ladd, come on and go swimming with us."
"Some of the patients," the officer said
casually. "Sure, I'll go," Alan said, and
climbed on the truck. He had kind of a
sinking feeling, though. This was, he felt,
going to be embarrassing all the way
around. Well, he needn't have worried^
He was never with a crowd in his life that
were more fun or more boisterous. Alan
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would be at the edge of the pool and a
guy with one arm would shove him into
the water and go in after him. They played
basketball when they were through swim-
ming and wore Alan out completely.
The Ladds were in Santa Fe at the
start of the Christmas holidays. The hos-
pital there was having a contest fo'r the
most beautifully decorated ward, with a
prize of a radio-phonograph. You've never
seen such decorations in your life! They
were all made by hand — the boys worked
for weeks. In every ward was a big tree,
and the ornaments were silver and scarlet
and turquoise, made of every available
material. The ward that won the prize
had a huge Santa Claus at one end, carry-
ing a pack full of discharge papers!
repertoire of one . . .
You've probably heard about Alan's
singing. At a recruiting center, Kay Kyser
thought it would be a good gag to get Alan
to make with the voice. Imagine every-
one's astonishment when Laddie finally
came out with "My Ideal" in the kind of
voice gals swoon over. Now wherever he
goes he is swamped by requests for a song.
Alan finished making "Salty O'Rourke"
just before he started on the tour and in
it he plays a race track gambler. So who
should he meet at Buckley Field hospital
but a famous ex-jockey. The jockey
started talking handicaps and post posi-
tions and Hialeah and Santa Anita. The
catch being that Alan has been to the races
just once in his life and doesn't know a
handicap from a steeplechase!
It was a swell trip, that hospital tour.
Tough, sure — in a way. They covered a lot
of territory, in trains that weren't stream-
liners, or even a reasonable facsimile
thereof. The roadbeds felt like a roller
coaster gone mad. At the hospitals they
spent their days in the wards, from nine
in the morning to eleven at night. They
saw some heartbreaking sights, but the
kind that make you grit your teeth and
say, "We've got to make it up to these
kids!" And they learned what all of us
must learn— that the wounded boys don't
want to be pitied. They want to be treated
just as they always were, and they want
to get back into civilian life and get a job
and marry their girls. Let's remember
that, and do our part, as Alan is doing his.
! SAW IT HAPPEN
I often visit the
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TO THE FANS, GOD BLESS EM
(Continued from page 37)
never saw such a happy grin.
He saw me laughing. "Hi, Hedda," he
yelled happily. "Isn't this terrific? Isn't
it wonderful?"
Sure it was. It was swell. He wasn't
kidding, either. Van loved every minute
of the mobbing he got. But only a few
months ago Van himself was one of those
star-worshipping kids. He stared, drop-
jawed, whenever he saw one of his movie
idols. He lost his tongue when he met
them. He asked for autographs. He was
a fan. Now it was happening to him and —
no doubt about it— Van Johnson was eat-
ing it up, loving it.
But as he eased his car through the
mob I couldn't help thinking— "How long
will this last? When will the honeymoon
be over? Or will it?" Already I knew.
Van had abandoned his house in Mande-
ville Canyon and fled to the Beverly Hills
Hotel because adoring girls were always
breaking in his house and embarrassing
him when he came home. (They heard he
couldn't make his bed— so they were do-
ing it for him!) I made a mental note to
check up on Van a couple of years from
now. Sometimes 'stars change — and some-
times they don't. It depends on the star.
I'll say it does!
love 'em and leave 'em . . .
I remember a famous husky-voiced star
when she first came to Hollywood, ready
and willing to do whatever the ballyhoo
boys wanted her to do— just to get fans
to notice her. And I remember the same
pretty lady, now rich and famous, and an
episode I witnessed not too many nights
ago in Hollywood.
She and her husband were coming out
of the theatre when a young girl stepped
up to her. "I hate to trouble you," she
began, "but here are some pictures I've
taken of you with my own camera." She
was proud as Punch. "Will you auto-
graph them for me?"
The actress reached out her hand and
looked at the pictures. She asked, "Have
you got any more?"
The kid glowed like summer sunshine.
"Oh, yes," she said, and fished some more
out of her pocket.
"Is that all?"
"Yes," said the girl. "That's all I have."
Whereupon Miss Aren't I Wonderful
ripped the bunch to pieces and tossed them
in the gutter! And her husband muttered
something about, "She doesn't have to sub-
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Some stars regard fans as horrid little
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them as friends. Still other stars sum up
their loyal subjects like some men look
on women — "you can't get along with 'em,
and you can't get along without 'em." I
could write a book on the subject and say
QUIZ ANSWERS
(Continued from page 15)
3. a 7. d
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a lot on all sides (but I won't, so relax).
The truth is (and plenty of stars are
smart enough to realize it) that without
fans there wouldn't be any stars.
I remember something Joan Crawford
said a very long time ago. She was mobbed
at a preview, pushed around and mussed
up considerably in the lobby of the old
Egyptian. theatre. A friend of hers, not in
the movies, was horrified. "But Joan,"
she protested, "how can you stand this?
Doesn't it scare you to death?"
Joan Crawford smiled wisely. "No,"
she said, "but it will when they stop
bothering me!" That's a classic remark in
Hollywood now. I'll bet I've heard it
tagged on a hundred stars since then. But
Joan said it first, and she meant it. No
Hollywood lady has ever had as many mil-
lions of adoring fans as Joan Crawford.
She's had more fan clubs than any star in
Hollywood. She's been a top star for over
fifteen years and she still is. She's had
fans to her house, met them in their own
home towns, listened to their advice,
helped them with their problems. She has
dressed to please them, played parts they
asked for. She has repaid their loyalty
with more hidden acts of kindness than
you'll ever know about. Joan has been
imposed upon, too, plenty —
Like the incident with that girl who was
a particular Crawford fan because every-
one told her she looked exactly like Joan
—same wide, blue eyes, chiselled face.
Joan was unusually nice to her, had her out
to the house and everything. But her
amazing resemblance gave the gal ideas.
She started passing herself off around
Hollywood as Joan Crawford's sister. Still
Joan didn't mind. Until she also started
charging things such as silk evening gowns
and fur coats at the swank department
stores. Then "Joan Crawford's sister" was
disowned in self defense.
But that's a rare case. The point is,
that Joan Crawford, who never was a
I SAW IT HAPPEN
Cary Grant visited
the Welch Con-
valescent Hospital
recently. As secre-
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up with people. After much delay, the
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I gave him the phone. There was still
quite a delay before the connection
was actually made. The place was
quiet, everyone was staring at him un-
til we were beginning to feel embar-
rassed for him. Cary must have felt
the same way, because, looking at the
phone in a quizzical way, he said,
"Purely selfish, these things; send
people rushing after you, then make
you wait for an hour or two. Yes, sir,
they are funny, everytime you pick up
the receiver someone says something."
We all laughed and that broke the
tension. Later on, I was astonished
and thrilled when I happened to see
him in the service club and he re-
membered me, even spoke to me by
name, thanking me for my courtesy.
He's swell!
Sarah Alberson,
Daytona Beach, Fla.
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I SAW IT HAPPEN
It was at the
Michigan Theatre,
and we were going
to see Vaughn Mon-
roe in person. After
staying to see two
performances, we
decided to go back-
stage in order to se-
cure the star's auto-
graph. Many other
fans were waiting,
so we joined the eager crowd. Vaughn
Monroe had slipped out in his car a
while before, but now, look who s m
that car! It was the leader, himself,
and in quite a hurry. Our congrega-
tion stopped him with anxious tugs at
his coat as he tried to get by. I, my-
self, was frantically pulling at his coat
sleeve. Mr. Monroe apologized and
said that it was but a moment or two
before he had to appear again, and
he hadn't even changed yet. But he
underestimated our persistence, for
while Vaughn Monroe's theme song
played on the stage, the maestro, him-
self, was backstage signing autographs.
To me, that was courtesy de luxe—
and a swell guy!
Nancy Korey,
Detroit, Michigan
BEAUTIFY YOUR
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134
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great actress (I think she'd be the first to
admit that) was— and is— a great screen
star and has been for over 15 years,
largely because she had a vibrant per-
sonality and something that went directly
to her fans and never left them. She's a
movie fan's star, the best example I know.
When Joan's career sagged several years
ago she never lost a fan. And she never
lost a contract, either. Did her friendli-
ness pay off when she needed it? Could be.
In contrast, let me tell you a little inci-
dent I was mixed up in once, and the star
in question is certainly not what she used
to be at the box-office, which may or may
not prove a darned thing.
It happened at the premiere of Gone
With the Wind." You can imagine how
the thousands of fans crowded around
that event, how eager they were to see
their favorites in the flesh. I was out in
the crowd with those fans that night. I
know the adoration they lavished on every
great name from Hollywood, 'way down
there in Atlanta, Georgia. Hollywood stars
were kings and queens with that hospitable
southern crowd. They could do no wrong.
But they did! For my money one did.
Some fans were having a hard time get-
ting a good look at their favorites.^ A few
of them ganged up on me. "Hedda," (that's
what they called me and it gave me a
kick, the friendly way they said it)
"Hedda, won't you ask them to turn
around this way so that we can see their
faces9"
I said, "You bet I will." The first star
I approached was Virginia Bruce, to my
mind, one of the great natural beauties of
Hollywood. I explained the request. "How
about turning around and giving them a
smile, Virginia?" I asked. "These kids
are wild to see what you look like. She
gave me a blank stare.
the little things count . . .
"Why should I?" she asked blandly.
"They saw me when I came in, didn't
they?" And she glided off, very regal.
The next star who walked by was that
fine colored actress, Hattie McDaniel, who
won an Oscar for her part in "Gone With
the Wind." I repeated the fan's request
I'd made to Virginia Bruce. "Why, sure,
Miss Hopper," said Hattie, smiling courte-
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ously. "And I wonder if you'd introduce
your friends to me?" So I did. And they
were thrilled— both the fans and Hattie.
And I couldn't help wondering to myself
who was the greatest real lady in that
test— Virginia Bruce or Hattie McDaniel?
Well, let's face it. Frankly, I'm on the
fans' side in the perpetual tug-of-war
that goes on between the great screen
idols and their beloved subjects. Maybe
it's the ham that's left in me, but I like
people, I like crowds. Whenever some-
body flatters me with recognition or
praise, I tingle from my screwy bonnet
to my wrinkled rayons. I had to struggle
all my life to make the grade and I ap-
preciate the symptoms of success. I re-
member once I stepped in the elevator
at the Empire State Building (to be a fan
myself and get a rubberneck look at Man-
hattan) . I said" something to the starter,
and the woman behind me, who hadn't
seen my face, cried, "Why Hedda Hopper!"
She recognized my voice from the radio.
Was I thrilled! I beamed like a new bride.
For years I've haunted the fan mobs on
the fringes of all big Hollywood events.
I wade right in among 'em and ask 'em
questions. When fm in New York I tip
them off when a star's about to arrive
and tell them where she's staying. Some
of my best friends are fans (I'm not a
glamour gal to them. But I am Hollywood
Information. So we get along) . More than
once a fan has tipped me off to a big
Hollywood story, too. The time Lucille
Ball and Desi Arnaz ran off to Connecti-
cut and the preacher, a fan found out and
tossed a scoop right into my lap. But this
isn't my story.
What I started to say was that fans are
just people — like you and me. And every-
body's a fan of somebody. Every movie
star in Hollywood is a swooner — openly
or in secret— for some other star (and
sometimes they're their own greatest ad-
mirer, too!). We're all fans, and all with
our special reasons for being fans. I went
to a preview at Grauman's Chinese one
night and in the famous forecourt where
all the footprints and handprints and nose-
prints are, I did my usual buzzing around
among the mob. I saw a sweet old lady
and a dainty young matron watching
everything eagerly. I always ask fans
whom they come to see (there's always a
special one) so I asked them and they said
"Lon McCallister."
At that time I didn't know Lon Mc-
Callister from Joe Doaks, so I just smiled
a blank smile and moved on. But after
I SAW IT HAPPEN
In September '42,
Talluldh Bankhead
came back to her
home town of Jas-
per, Alabama. She
was making her last
appearance at the
city auditorium and
made her entrance
greeting friends
right and left while
an elderly vendor
hovered about the entrance selling his
popcorn and peanuts. Suddenly Tallu-
ldh spied him and ran through the
crowd to give this man a big kiss.
As the famous actress walked away,
tears slid down the lined face of
vendor and a smile betrayed his
happiness. She had been one jVer
best customers during her ""nia*ure
days in Jasper. Tallula'^h order (To
gotten! eZndc/ioice.)
Sgt. Herschel
Jaspe
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that preview was over I did, you can bet.
It was "Stage Door Canteen." Who were
the fans? That's right— his mother and
grandmother.
skip the four-eyes . . .
The stars who have discovered the
amazing fact that fans are human beings
after all, are the ones who get^ by best
when they meet the people. It's not at
all necessary to get a Sherlock Holmes
disguise every time you appear in public,
as Nelson Eddy used to do. Nelson used
to wrap up in a shabby black coat and
hat and lug a violin case when he traveled
to deglamorize himself into an impover-
ished musician! Garbo started that dark
glasses cover-up stuff, which every star
in Hollywood has copied. But by now
everybody who's nobody wears them so
everybody will think they're somebody —
if you get me!
I've always admired the way Clark
Gable gets along with his fans. At heart,
Clark is one of the most modest gents in
Hollywood. He's really shy in crowds;
he doesn't purr in adulation at all, and you
can imagine how many times in his long,
top-man career he's been mobbed. But
Clark always strides along in public with-
out a false whisker or a smoked glass,
tearing along in that big stride of his and
getting where he's going before his fans get
over their bedazzlement. I saw Clark
stride right through the forecourt at the
Hollywood Egyptian, going to the preview
of "Mutiny on the Bounty," I think it was,
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M
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136
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smiling affably and stunning all his fans
with his charm. Near the door a girl looked
at him, gasped when she saw who it was
and went, "Oh! O-H-H-HH— like that—
and swooned away right at his feet. Clark
never turned a hair or missed a stride.
In a second he was in the theatre, where-
he was aiming.
easy does it . . .
But when Clark's trapped he's a good
sport, one of the best. You see, he's wise
eno'?-h to know that it doesn't cost any-
•" " -5A9 be gracious and that a grin takes
W p o effort than a scowl.
king of a time in Manhattan,
& piar, when Clark stepped out
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w "-,ened to be in a heck of
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look like."
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she asked blandly,
when I came in, didn't
,oxie glided off, very regal.
* ar who walked by was that
I 3 actress, Hattie McDaniel, who
Uscar for her part in "Gone With
id." I repeated the fan's request
-,Jde to Virginia Bruce. "Why, sure,
J Hopper," said Hattie, smiling courte-
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his fingers numbed, even though he missed
the show. Some other stars I know would
have called the cops.
Dennis Morgan had something like that
happen to him a year ago when he went
back to his home state, Wisconsin, and
got trapped in a Milwaukee hotel elevator.
Denny's the home-state-boy-who-made-
good in those parts, you know, and the
crowd spotted him in a department store,
followed him to the hotel and jammed in
the elevator with him before he could
duck. Once inside, they issued an ultima-
tum: Morgan didn't leave that elevator
until he came through with a song. Den-
ny s a reasonable guy, like Gable. He
launched into "The Desert Song" while the
car rocketed to the roof and then plum-
meted back to the basement. After five
round trips they let him go, a little ele-
vator-sick, but happy about the whole
thing.
funniest episode of that nature,
though, happened to Dana Andrews, and
it still makes Dana blush to tell it. Dana's
a star who has made it the hard way, and
that s the kind of star who appreciates his
fans. Besides, Dana's one of the most nor-
mal, good-natured guys I know. Just the
same, the situation was a little trying.
He was on a bond tour and lodged in a
southern city hotel. He barged in his
room one day, after being out, in a ter-
rific hurry to make a change of clothes
and hustle back to his bond-selling chores.
Two dusky chambermaids were fussing
about his room. But there was something
about their complexions that didn't ring
true. Dana stopped in his tracks and took
a good look. He knew blackface when he
uaW j1-^"^11 right' Sirls'" he grinned,
wash off the cork. I know you."
They laughed their confessions. They'd
made up as chambermaids to get in his
room. They wanted to meet him. He was
their favorite star . . . etc., etc. But none
of this quick glimpse stuff. These fans
wanted a long visit, a sort of double date
that they could talk about for months and
months.
"That would be swell," said Dana, "only
not now. Look, I'm in a hurry." And he
explained his tizzy. "So you-all run along
now and— some other time."
"Uh-uh," said the girls. "We aren't
leaving.
Dana explained. He cajoled, he threat-
ened, he pleaded. He tried to kid them
out of it. They just smiled and sat, as de-
termined young gals can. When he said
wildly that they'd have to leave, he had to
change his clothes, they just giggled.
striptease a la andrews . . .
Dana was desperate. The minutes were
ticking off. The only way, he figured, was
to scare them out. He took off his coat.
They thought that was fine. He jerked off
his tie. Not a move. He unlaced his shoes.
They just stared. He ripped off his shirt.
They perked up. They guffawed— the little
devils— when he reached shakily for his
belt buckle. Dana knew when he was
licked. He grabbed his change of clothes,
fled to the bathroom, locked the door,
shaved, showered and dressed. When he
breezed by and out, the girls were still
sitting there, grinning like pussy cats
What a tale they had to tell the gang-
about Dana Andrews' desperate strip-
tease!
All movie fans aren't little angels—
don't get me wrong. Stars blessed with
the good nature of a puppy dog and the
patience of Job blow up in some out-
rageous situations. Fans can pester the
pants off their idols. They can get in their
hair, bust into their homes, damage their
property, make them very uncomfortable.
But are those particular (and fortunately
rare) pests true admirers? I wonder.
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I SAW IT HAPPEN
At a bond rally,
the Lt. Commander
spoke heroically of
the wounded Navy
Seabee, Fireman
1/C George Wen-
delken. Seabee
Wendelken, though
severely wounded
and paralyzed, had
I to be left in a ditch
while the few re-
maining men went for aid. He asked
for a rifle, saying as long as he could
still use his arms, he could get the
Later more dead than alive, he was
rescued. Back in the States, he was
offered a medical discharge, and the
film world offered him a salary run-
ning into four figures. However, He
-preferred to remain in the service.
Now, with the aid of braces, Seabee
Wendelken tours the war plants, and
with that same mischievous, lovable
grin and smile, asks us to buy more
War Bonds." Who is Seabee Wendel-
ken'' Remember "Freckles from
"Our Gang Comedies?" That's he.
1. Wexler,
Tarrytown, N. Y.
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138 Address
"mease Print)
Remember the time when Bob Taylor
was sailing to England to make Yank at
Oxford" and two Brooklyn high school
girls stowed away under his stateroom
bunk, only to be dragged out at the last
minute? That caused Bob plenty of em-
barrassment, and I thought he was pretty
swell about the whole thing m spite of all
the ribs and gags he suffered because of it
I was in Bill Eythe's dressing room ]ust
the other day when his telephone rang.
Long distance— a famous name orchestra
leader calling, charges reversed— would he
take it? Bill was puzzled but he did. Me
knew the band leader, thought maybe he
had some business about a picture. But the
voice on the wire was an ambitious fan
who gave Bill a sales talk about sponsor-
ing his career in the movies. (An actor s
about the last person in the world, too, to
help anybody get a Hollywood break) .
That was a shabby trick. It cost Bill money.
It didn't get the trickster anywhere,
"^remember when the late Jean Harlow
used to have her lovely clothes ruined
every time she appeared in public. 1 saw
her almost snatched naked once at a
President's Birthday Ball appearance and
if it hadn't been for Larry Barbier, her
M-G-M protector, who tossed his coat
around Jean, she would have been seri-
ously embarrassed. Joan Blondell once had
a beautiful ermine wrap that Dick Powell
gave her for an anniversary (in happier
domestic days f or ' them both) and she
wore it proudly to a premiere. It had a
row of cute little ermine tails and when
Joan got through the mob they'd all been
snatched off— every one. Funny thing, a
few days later Joan Blondell spotted some
of her ermine tips flying from the radia-
tors of hopped up high school heaps rac-
ing around Hollywood! Only that wasnt
funny to Joan; she could have wrung
those little ruffians' necks, and I dont
blame her. ,
Frankie Sinatra was almost throttled
a dozen times by bobby-sockers yanking
at his famous bow ties before he got wise
and had some break-away ones made that
came apart in the middle and slipped
right off at the slightest jerk. Tough on
the wardrobe but a darned sight easier
on Frankie's Adam's apple! Van Johnson
has had three wrist watches smashed.
But two of the brassiest babies I ever
heard about picked on Ann Sothem and
Ann Sheridan, two as good-sport gals as
I know in Hollywood. Sothern s bold beau
simply announced that he was going to
come out and move in with her. She as-
sumed he was just another letter crank
and forgot it. But soon packages began
to arrive at her house. Then came a trunk.
Then came some furniture— honest! Then
came the fan himself, nutty as a fruitcake,
of course. Then came the cops. What else
could Ann do?
Sheridan's absent lover was even more
screwy Annie came home one day from
work to find her house looking like an
upside-down cake. Drawers were topsy-
turvy, everything inside out and all her
valuables gone. She was robbed, cleaned
like a carpet. She buzzed the police at
once and they caught the culprit three
houses down the block, loaded with Sheri-
dan swag. The judge gave him five years
in San Quentin, but he didn t mind a bit
In fact, when they told him that one of
the houses he'd ransacked was Ann Sheri-
dan's he beamed like a kid who d seen
Santa Claus. He sat right down in the
pokey pen in hand and wrote Ann an
ardent letter. ,
"What a thrill!" scribbled the smitten
second-story man. "To think that I robbed
your house! I'm crazy about you, Kid.
This is the greatest break I ever got, Baby.
What a wonderful surprise!"
And he still writes Ann faithfully from
the Big House. He asks her to send him
autographed pictures and everything. He s
happy as a lark with his memory He
signs all his notes, "Your Burglar,' and he
swears the first thing he'll do when he
gets out of stir is to come see Ann Sheri-
dan—an event which Annie is not exactly
looking forward to, I can promise you!
A whole lot of the messes with fans that
stars find themselves in, however, can be
laid right at their own Hollywood door-
steps—or sometimes the steps of their
eager press agents. Much too often the
poor fans take the rap as trouble makers,
when it ain't necessarily so.
wife wanted . • .
Cesar Romero stuck his neck out a
couple of miles when he bought his Brent-
wood house, a big, rambling affair, and let
it be known that the place contained an
unfinished bridal suite, just waiting for
the happy girl. Cesar stuck out the neck
a few more miles when somebody talked
him into unburdening himself in print to
the effect that he was looking for a wife.
Not only that, but the darned fool de-
scribed her in detail, right down to
weights, measurements, and complexion.
Find her, said Cesar in a reckless maga-
zine piece and I am a married man. A
few weeks after that one, Senor Romero
was one unhappy man. In fact, he couldn t
come near his nice, new house. A certain
out-country lady took his lonely bachelor
appeal very seriously, packed up her things
and arrived. Said she logically, "I answer
every description. I AM the girl. And no-
body could talk her out of it. She parked
her bags on Cesar's doorstep and the poor
guy couldn't come home for days and days
Until they finally talked her into reason.
By that time Cesar was very bitter about
everything, especially fans. But he had no
one to blame but himself.
Faye Emerson (now Mrs. Elliott Roose-
velt) got in a jam long before her dog,
"Blaze," hopped across the country on an
A-priority. Before Faye joined the Royal
Family, she let it be known that her
mother and father had separated early m
her life and that she had a stepsister whom
she hadn't seen since she was six years
old had no idea where she could be,
would love to see her. Right away the
press agents pounced on that one. Whats
. a better publicity angle than a long-lost
relative search? It made a feature for the
newspapers and in no time at all Faye
had no less than fifty stepsisters, each
one insisting that she was the real McCoy.
Some, spurned, threatened to sue and all
sorts of mixups badgered Faye, to her sor-
row. Finally, for a happy ending, the real
stepsister did turn up and all was rosy-
dosy, so maybe it was worth it. But you
can't blame that on fans. Cherchez le
press-agent, kids!
It was the same idea when Ginger Rogers
got tangled in a lawsuit with an admiring
London bobby (cop to you). He wrote
Ginger a letter (which she never saw
until too late) wanting to be her body-
guard. Rogers' studio saw a publicity
story, so they published the letter. So
the bobby got canned from the London
police force. So he sued Ginger. Can you
blame him?
I remember how burnt up Bob Taylor
was when he made that European trip.
After a strenuous time in England, Bob
planned an incognito visit to Denmark.
He booked passage on a plane and took
off, dead sure no one knew he was coming.
To his amazement, when the ship swooped
down at Copenhagen, 10,000 fans were
waiting to maul him! It was a long time
before Bob figured that out. Later he
discovered that a promoter for the airline
had a big sign in lights on the wings of
that airship. It said, "ROBERT TAYLOR
FROM HOLLYWOOD!"
There's one thing I think movie fans cari
plead guilty of in a game of truth and
consequence. They're fickle, most of them.
There are exceptions, of course. You
take a Joan Crawford fan, a Gar bo, Hep-
burn, or Irene Dunne fan and you've got
something pretty solid and durable. Judy
Garland's first fan is still her best. His
name's Heinz, and Judy has called him
"Pickles" for years and years. He lives
in New York and has never failed to meet
her train when she makes a visit. He fol-
lows her to her hotel and they have a
long chat the first thing. If Pickles ever
fails to show up, Judy Garland is going
to be a very unhappy girl. He's more
than a fan, he's a sort of walking good
luck charm. But most fans add up to
what a girl expressed in an ardent note to
John Hodiak the other day.
"Dear John," she wrote, "you make me
swoon, like Frankie Sinatra did, before
Van Johnson came along!"
good-bye cesar, hello dark . . .
I saw a circle .of sweet young things
crowded around Cesar Romero a few years
I SAW IT HAPPEN
Shortly before Christmas, my two
girl friends and I were strolling down
Vine Street. Suddenly, all three of
us did a turnabout as if we had seen
a mirage. One of our favorite actors
had passed us by. After securing his
autograph, we began to carry on a
conversation. Instead of being stiff
and formal, we all found ourselves
very much at ease. At his request, we
joined him as he went window shop-
ping and wound up in a coffee shop.
We talked about everything from
Brooklyn (our home) to what to buy
for Christmas. We shall certainly al-
ways remember the friendliness and
charm of the screen's newest hero,
Turhan Bey.
Viola Pollich,
Los Angeles, California
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FRIENDSHIP
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EMPIRE DIAMOND CO. jJ&LV;^
AUTOGRAPHS !
So you love bargains! Then how about a real
one? Just think, a freshly written, black and
white signature from the pen of your favorite star
listed below. No dime-a-dozen imitations lor you;
Send a quarter for each autographed NAA emblem
card. You see, this is a bargain in humim happi-
ness, too, because the NAVAL AID AUXILIARY
FUND is for the American seamen who guard us.
They deserve your assistance! Send for that spe-
cial offer: FIVE FOR ONE DOLLAR. What a pleas-
ant way to say, "Thank you!"
June Allyson
Don Ameche
Mary Anderson
Dana Andrews
Jean Arthur
Lynn Bari
Lionel Barrymore
Anne Baxter
William Bendix
Joan Bennett
Ingrid Bergman
Turhan Bey
Janet Blair
Joan Blondell
Humphrey Bogart
Charles Boyer
Eddie Bracken
Barbara Britton
Jim Brown
Eddie Cantor
Claudette Colbert
Ronald Colman
Gary Cooper
Joseph Cotten
James Craig
Jeanne Crain
Dick Crane
Bing Crosby
Xavier Cugat
Helmut Dantine
Linda Darnell
Bette Davis
Laraine Day
Gloria De Haven
Olivia de Havilland
Tommy Dix
Brian Donlevy
Tom Drake
Jimmy Durante
William Eythe
Jinx Falkenburg
Alice Faye
Errol Flynn
John Garfield
Judy Garland
Peggy Ann Garner
Greer Garson
Paulette Goddard
Betty Grable
Farley Granger
Cary Grant
Bonita Granville
Kathry Grayson -
Sidney jreenstreet
Alan Hale
Dare Harris
Signe Hasso
June Haver
Dick Haymes
Susan Hayward
Rita Hayworth
Paul Henreid
Katharine Hepburn
John Hodiak
Bob Hope
Marsha Hunt
Walter Huston
Betty Hutton
Bob Hutton
Richard Jaeckel
Harry James
Gloria Jean
Van Johnson
Jennifer Jones
Brenda Joyce
Dannv Kaye
Gene Kelly
Kay Kyser
Alan Ladd
Hedy Lamarr
Dorothy Lamour
Carole Landis
Priscilla Lane
Joan Leslie
John Loder
Myrna Loy
Ida Lupino
Diana Lynn
Roddv McDowall
Lon McCallister
Dorothy McGuire
Irene Manning
Trudy Marshall
Marilyn Maxwell
Ray Milland
Carmen Miranda
Thomas Mitchell
Maria Montez
George Montgomery
Constance Moore
Dennis Morgan
George Murphy
Lloyd Nolan
Jack Oakie
Merle Oberon
Margaret O'Brien
Virginia O'Brien
Donald O'Connor
Maureen O'Hara
Dennis O'Keefe
Michael O'Shea
John Payne
Gregory Peck
Susan Peters
Walter Pidgeon
William Powell
Tyrone Power
George Raft
Ella Raines
Martha Raye
Ronald Reagan
Donna Reed
Ginger Rogers
Roy Rogers
Rosalind Russell
Ann Rutherford
Eddie Ryan
Peggy Ryan
Randolph Scott
Ann Sheridan
Dinah Shore
Phil Silvers
Ginny Simms
Frank Sinatra
Red Skelton
Alexis Smith
Ann Sothern
Barbara Stanwyck
Shirley Temple
Gene Tierney
Franchot Tone
Spencer Tracy
Sonny Tufts
Lana Turner
Robert Walker
John Wayne
Cornel Wilde
Esther Williams
Jane Withers
Monty Woolley
Teresa Wright
Jane Wyman
Loretta Young
Robert Young
ago. You'd have thought his autograph
was the most desirable thing in the world.
Suddenly, they all squealed and ran. The
last one actually grabbed her pad and
pencil out of poor Cesar's hand as he was
writing. Why? They'd seen Gable arriv-
ing His signature is worth more on the
collector's market. Walter Pidgeon once
was asked to sign a book on two pages.
Intrigued, he asked why.
"Aw," explained the kid. "It takes two
Pidgeons to trade for a Mickey Rooney,
and that's what I want!"
There's another rap I'll have to pin on
fans in mob scenes. They give stars gray
hairs— with their reckless actions— not
about the stars' safety, but about the fans .
I got in a cab with Gary Cooper in New
York once and almost jumped out of my
skin when Gary shouted. "Don't start!
to the driver. "I'll take it easy," said the
cabbie, shifting into low. "DON'T MOVE
AN INCH!" yelled Gary. Then he hopped
out and disentangled a boy's leg caught
in the back bumper. If the cab had roared
away he'd have been killed and who would
have got the bad publicity? Three guesses.
black-balled angel . . .
There's not a sweeter lady with fans in
Hollywood than Greer Garson. But on a
bond tour in a Midwestern city not long
ago, Greer found her automobile smothered
with kids, eager for a look at her. Through
a slip-up, there wasn't any police escort
and the back kids were pushing the front
ones right into the wheels. Greer jumped
out in a flash and ushered the endan-
gered children back from the car. That
night a local woman's welfare organization
called at her hotel and ripped her up and
down. They were sore as all get-out.
Who did Greer Garson think she was, any-
way, the irate names screeched, to come to
Mudville and push children around the
streets? Honest, that actually happened.
So sometimes it is to wonder, very much
to wonder. Sometimes a star can be an
angel on earth and still find herself
doubling in horns and a forked tail-
through a silly misunderstanding like that.
Greer Garson isn't the only natural
angel who really gives of herself to her
fans and admirers. There are plenty more
— and a few devils, too. Let's see
I Enclosed please find 25c in □ stamps,
I □ paper-wrapped coin, for an NAA card
| autographed by
I
I
I I understand I am to enclose 25c for each
additional autograph I request but that only
I $1.00 will now pay for 5 autographs.
I
| My name is
j I live at
I City
| N
■ Slate
NAA EDITOR, MODERN SCREEN
., ! 913G Sunset Blvd., Los Angeles 46, Calif.
HO (
I'd put Marlene Dietrich, that grand
old Army gal, and Madeleine Carroll at
the top of the list, and I'd vote them a
Congressional Medal, too, if I had my
way. They rate it for the wonderful com-
fort and joy they've brought our fighting
GIs ever since the shooting started. I must
have had a thousand letters from soldiers
and mothers and everyone else singing
their praises. What an army of fans they 11
have as long as they live! Madeleine al-
ways was friendly, but it took the chal-
lenge of war's misery to bring out the real
Marlene. . ,
Bing Crosby blossomed as a friendly
"Der Bingle," too, when he met his Army
fans. But Bing's still naturally too lazy
to exert himself when he meets the people
around Hollywood, just as Gary Coopers
still too shy, although he's improved with
age that way. A most misunderstood man
is Charles Boyer, who's supposed to be
cold and aloof, but I've seen Boyer act
as chivalrous to a couple of freckle-nosed
autograph hunting fans as he would to a
duchess. He's always polite and obliging
if you catch him — but try and catch
Charles, an artful dodger. Walter Pidgeon
is another gentleman, kindly, pleasant,
considerate and humorously twinkle-eyed
no matter how many fans storm him or
where. He's stopped traffic more than
once in Hollywood and New York.
You can put Ann Sheridan high on the
honor list, especially since she's known
Steve Hannagan, that jovial greeter who
knows the worth of public friendliness.
Bette Davis used to be touched with tern- •
perament now and then, but at heart she
always was warm-hearted and her work
at the Hollywood Canteen has mellowed
her right into a pal-gal. I don't know
any actress who genuinely loves fans and
fan-rushes like Virginia O'Brien; she eats
it up. And little Diana Lynn squeals
louder than the fans when they gang her.
Ann Shirley's twice as gracious now as
she was when she was Mrs. John Payne,
and Gloria DeHaven has taken on some of
John's sullen attitude in public since she
became his better half. Alan Ladd is
marvelous — one actor who calls his fans
his friends and really means it. And I've
been soft on Lucille Ball ever since I
heard about her visit to the little crippled
Pittsburgh girl who had never walked in
her life. She knew Lucille had been
crippled, too, as a girl, and she wanted to
see her. Lucille took time off to spend an
afternoon lending her the courage and hope
of her own brave fight.
And then there's lovely Ingrid Berg-
man. The other day, 10 fighter pilots, all
veterans of rugged missions, called at my
house (how they ever found it I'll never
know; my friends say I live at the ends of
the earth). It was their first leave in
Hollywood. They all wanted to meet just
one person. They had a mass crush on
Ingrid Bergman— and I didn't blame them
a bit.
I called Ingrid. She was back East on
<a war bond tour. I never saw such dis-
appointed faces. When she got back I told
Ingrid about it. "It will probably happen
again," I told her. "How1 about it? ^Can
I bring them over? Do you mind?"
"I should say not," she replied. "You
bring any soldier who wants to see me up
to my house. They're always welcome."
She sat down and wrote some notes to
the disappointed flyers and I sent them
on. Now, there's a gal!
thanks a million . . .
I wonder how many stars remember
what they owe their fans? It was "Good-
man's Four Hundred," those noisy rooters
at the Paramount Theatre in New York,
who started Benny the Good on the road to
fame and fortune. It was nothing but
female fan letters which lifted Helmut
Dantine out of his nasty Nazi roles and
forced Warners to give him romantic
roles. I could go on and on, but I prom-
ised I wouldn't write a book. That's for
my old age.
So I'll wind up with the story of Son] a
Henie's favorite fan. He was a very un-
usual and exciting fan, because wherever
Sonja went on her skating show tours, a
tree of orchids arrived in her room the
minute she stepped into her hotel. She
traveled all over the United States and
everywhere it was the same. A new city,
a new hotel, a new orchid tree! But no
card. A mystery fan supreme, but obvi-
ously an ardent one. Orchid trees Wool-
worth doesn't sell, Baby. Sonja was in-
trigued— who wouldn't be?
Well, one night in New York she
stepped out at the Stork Club and during
the evening her escort said he had a friend
who'd like to dance with her
Sonja shook her pretty blonde head. I m
too tired to dance," she said. "I'll meet
him some other time — how's that? '
The escort shrugged. "Whatever you
Sa]3ut in a minute a couple of waiters
came up. They were lugging— that's right
—a tree of orchids. They plunked it down
before Sonja Henie and right behind it was
a very handsome, very smiling, very at-
tractive man. Her fan — the orchid man.
So Sonja danced with him. That's not
all. • Pretty soon she married him. His
name was Dan Topping.
You never can tell about fans!
Here's the Mascara
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AT ALL DRUG, DEPARTMENT AND TEN CENT STORES
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in "HERE COME THE CO-EDS"
A Universal Picture
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There goes Yesterday — but how about Today?
Your bath only takes care of past
perspiration, but to guard your
future freshness— the word is Mum!
YES, YOUR bath washes away all past
perspiration. But it can't protect you
against risk of underarm odor to come. It
can't safeguard your future freshness. That's
a job Mum does well.
So top off your bath with Mum— and
stay as sweet as you are. Don't take chances
when your charm is at stake. Mum is one
quick trick that helps a girl to keep her
"date" dazzled!
Mum smooths on like a breeze. And takes
just 30 seconds' doing. Mum's protection
lasts all day or evening long. No risk of
offending odor now. And isn't it nice to
know that Mum won't injure fine fabrics
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You're hitting it off! The one you dote
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thanks his lucky stars that you came into
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Underarm odor hasn't a chance. After your
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Product of Bristol-Myers
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GO
Published In
this space
•very month
The greatest
star ot the
screen I
There are several kinds of laughs. The
smile, the chuckle, the quirk of amuse-
ment— * * ★ *
None of these goes with the new
Spencer Tracy-Katharine Hepburn film
—"Without Love". * * * *
We're talking about
the Abdominal Up-
heaval—the kind of
laugh that gets a
half-nelson on your
midriff and rolls you
around in your seat.
★ ★ ★ *
The handkerchief-stuffed-in-the-mouth
kind of laughter.
★ ,,★ ★ .★ „ ,
"Without Love is sensationally funny.
And personal and warm.
★ ★ ★ ★
This columnist saw the picture four
times before writing this. We laugh in
the same places each time.
★ ★ ★ ★
Spencer was never immenser. Katharine
attempts to woo, but his attitude is
that it can't Hepburn here.
★ ★ ★ ★
The picture is much better than that.
★ ★ ★ ★
Donald Ogden Stewart has adapted
Philip Barry's play with a fresh ap-
proach and a free hand. He has intro-
duced a sleep-walking motif.
★ ★ ★ ★
Spence sleep-walks at first and Katie
sleep-walks right back at him. It's a
sleep-walkie-talkie.
★ ★ * * . , „
Lawrence Weingarten, who is awlully
good at producing this sort of clever
fare for M-G-M, is up to his old tricks.
★ ★ ★ ★
Harold Bucquet, the director, deserves
a bouquet for his excellent job.
★ ★ ★ ★
The picture has one of the greatest
casts ever. In addition to Tracy and
Hepburn, there's, to begin with, Lucille
Ball, a star on her own, who lives up
to her reputation.
★ ★**.„,,
Keenan Wynn never was funnier. Then
there are Carl Esmond, Patricia Mori-
son, Felix Bressart— and and and.
★ ★ ★ ★
It started during Easter at the Radio
City Music Hall in New York and is
still running. It's a long run picture.
★ ★ ★ ★
Changing the subject, how many of you
have seen "The Picture of Dorian Gray",
the most unusual film of the year?
★ ★ ★ ★
This production based on
Oscar Wilde's absinthe-
tinted drama is causing a
great deal of talk. It is so
superbly produced, so dif-
ferent in theme from con-
ventional fare. We think
you ought to see"Dorian".
★ ★ ★ ★
M-G-M has many wonderful offerings
on the way. You might look for "The
Clock", "Son of Lassie",
"The Valley of Decision"
"Thrillof a Romance", and
"Ziegfeld Follies".
★ ★ ★ ★
Still roaring. _ J>0&
STORIES
* COLOR
PAGES
FEATURES
FASHION
DEPTS.
modern screen
HAPPY BIRTHDAY FROM M-G-M! (color spread)
Golly, how could MODERN SCREEN help but have a happy fif-
teenth birthday with M-G-M giving us such a super swell party
and inviting Sidney Skolsky to bring you all along? Lets go!..
38
HAPPY BIRTHDAY FROM 20th CENTURY-FOX! (color spread)
Tie up your hair bows, pin up your skirts, you're going to a
kiddie party! Sidney Skolsky takes us all to the 20th Fox gang's
s'prise for our fifteenth birthday. P.S., Annie Baxters hostess!
HAPPY BIRTHDAY FROM PARAMOUNT! (color spread)
Yippeee! Sonny Tufts and his hard ridin' gang whoop it up for
our birthday. Come along with Sidney Skolsky and join the
Wild West party sprung by the Paramount kids
THESE ARE THE UNFORGETTABLES! by Louella Parsons
Louella takes her typewriter (and professional life) in hand
and awards her personal Oscars to the "Most Outrageous,
"Scrappingest," "Most Romantic," etc., stars of the past 15 years
HEDDA HOPPER'S SECRET MEMOIRS
When Hedda recalls her memoirs, that's good. But when she
relates her extra special secret ones, that's high voltage stuff!
Here are fifteen years of racy, intimate Hollywood memories . . .
THESE ARE THE LOVELIEST! by Ed Sullivan
Carol Carter, beauty editor, asked Johnson, Flynn, Bogart, Milland
and Gotten to vote on H'wood's 10 "most beautiful." Columnist
Sullivan came in to referee and comment
* CLARK GABLE, Life Story by Vicki Baum
At last, the story you've been waiting for— of the struggle, the
tenderness and the tragedy that have made Clark Gable not just
a screen idol but a husband and a soldier— a truly good man. . . .
MODERN SCREEN'S BIRTHDAY QUIZ by Phil Baker
The "Take It Or Leave It" man chose snapshots of your favorite
movie people as they look today and as they appeared when
MJ5. was a baby book 15 years ago. Well— we mixed 'em, you
match 'em
WHERE ARE THEY NOW? by Jimmy Fidler
Your big-time stars of 1945 look bacfe to the 1930' s and remem-
ber their favorites of yesteryear, with Jimmy Fidler sauntering
alongside to point out "where they are now"
Clark Gable in M-G-M's "Strange Adventure"
Editorial Page
Modern Screen's Fashion Guide
Fannie Hurst Selects "The Clock" v
Sweet and Hot by Leonard Feather
Movie Reviews
Super Coupon
Co-Ed •
Good News by Louella Parsons
Your Presence Is Requested— M. S. Birthday Parties.
41
46
54
52
58
60
66
87
62
37
70
8
14
18
32
34
74
92
COVER: June Allyson in M-G-M's "Her Highness and the Bellboy"
ALBERT P. DELACORTE, Executive Editor
HENRY P. MALMGREEN. Editor
SYLVIA WALLACE. Hollywood Editor
KAY HARDY. Hollywood Promotion Manager
OTTO STORCH, Art Director
BILL WEINBERGER, Art Editor
GUS GALE and WALT DAVIS, Photographers
Editorial Assistants: Charts Zeigler, Mickey Ghidalia, Marion Dunant
Service Dept.: Toussia Pines. Information Desk: Beverly Linet
POSTMASTER: Please send notice on Form 3578 and copies returned under
Label Form 3579 to 149 Madison Avenue, New York 16, New York
v, , -w m 1 i ioje r^rwriaht 1945 the Dell Publishing Co., Inc., 149 Madison Ave., New York. Pub-
iV?1-/1' N£i V-Tdln U' S A Office of pubhcotion at Washington and South Aves., Dunellen, N. J. Single
hshed monthly. Printed '"h Canada U S ub"c pWon price, $1.50 a year. Canadian subscription, $1.80 a year
Forei^"uebs1=riP ionU$l 70 a y»™ Entered™ ,SdaS matter Sept. 18 1930, at the post office, Dunellen, N. J
roreign subscription Y Additiona| seCond c ass entries at Seattle, Wash., San Francisco, Ca if., Dallas,
Texa's and New Orleans La the pub?she s accept no responsibility fpr the return of unsolicited material. Names of
characters usee "in ^fictional matter are fictitious. If the name of any living person ,s used ,t ,s purely a comcdence.
Trade mark No. 301773.
viifv£ttj c^nAo*XaA... -dice 1
(buj%iM,. . . C^uuxruL 'Cririlhf bwdo, (Mm^
"WITHOUT LOVE"
s,orring SPENCER TRACY, KATHARINE HEPBURN with lucille ball,
KEENAN WYNN CARL ESMOND, PATRICIA MORISON, FELIX BRESSART • Screen Play by Donald Ogden Stewart
Based on the Play by Philip Barry . Directed by Harold S. Bucauet • Produced by Lawrence A. Weingarten
"THE VALLEY OF DECISION"
starring GREER GARSON, GREGORY PECK with donald crisp,
LIONEL BARRYMORE, PRESTON FOSTER, MARSHA HUNT, GLADYS COOPER, REGINALD OWEN,
DAN DURYEA, JESSICA TANDY, BARBARA EVEREST, MARSHALL THOMPSON • Screen Play by John Meehan
and Sonya Levien • Based on the Novel by Marcia Davenport • Directed by Toy Garnett . Produced by Edwin H. Knopf
"THRILL OF A ROMANCE"
^mng VAN JOHNSON, ESTHER WILLIAMS with Frances gifford
HENRY TRAVERS, SPRING BYINGTON and Introducing The Metropolitan Opera Star LAUKIIZ. MtL<_niUK,
TOMMY DORSEY AND HIS ORCHESTRA • Photographed In Technicolor • Origina« Screen
Play by Richard Connell and Gladys Lehman • Directed by Richar*d Thorpe • Produced by Joe Pasternak
"HER HIGHNESS AND THE BELLBOY"
starry HEDY LAMARR, ROBERT WALKER, JUNE ALLYSON
with RAGS RAGLAND, WARNER ANDERSON, AGNES MOOREHEAD
Screen Play by Richard Connell and Gladys Lehman • Directed by Richard Thorpe . Produced by Joe Pasternak
P. S— Remember "Lassie, Come Home"? You'll love "Son of Lassie",
M-G-M's spectacular sequel in Technicolor!
SELECTS "THE CLOCK
n
Alice Maybery (Judy Garland) meets Corp. Joe
Allen (Bob Walker) on his 48-hour pass. They fall in
love, marry and part — "for a little while, darling."
■ Here is a frail story whose strength
paradoxically lies in its cobweb pat-
tern. The combination of Paul Gallico
(who wrote the original story with
Pauline Gallico) and Robert Nathan,
(who wrote the screen play with
Joseph Schrank) , lives up to much that
is expected from such a wedding of
opposite talents.
Basically, "The Clock" is a boy-
meets-girl theme interpreted in ideas
of one syllable, with Judy Garland as
the girl, Alice, and Robert Walker as
the boy, Joe.
It is the kind of picture which, while
you are seeing it, captures you with its
charm but does not give you much to
take home. That must mean it has a
kind of enchantment under which it
holds the viewing spectator. And that
is a nice achievement.
Boy meets girl in New York's Penn-
sylvania Station under conditions as
simple and conventional as this: Cor-
poral Joe Allen, a wide-eyed boy from
Minnesota, arrives from his Maryland
encampment on a two-day furlough.
Corp. Joe is green, bewildered, lonely.
Alice Maybery, a young New York
office-worker (originally, too, from a
Main Street) , is returning from a week-
end.
Thus, boy meets girl in Pennsyl-
vania Station.
But what in the world are the
authors and the director going to do
with these two run-of-the-mill young
people who meet under such un-
original circumstances?
They are going to do quite a good
deal that is delightful, playful, and
moving. You wonder that the authors
had so much up their sleeves.
It transpires that Corporal Joe has
forty-eight hours at his disposal. The
New York that is milling and storming
around him is not one bit interested in
that fact. Neither, in the beginning, is
pretty Alice Maybery. And then the
droll, the pleasant, the humorous, the
whimsical, the apprehensive and the
heart-hurting, begin to happen to the
boy and girl.
This is a {Continued on page 10)
Its 1 part Beauty
and 9 parts
Beauty Care
The man in your life," says
this lovely star, "just takes
it for granted you were born
beautiful if your hair is shin-
ing, your eyes are bright, and
your skin is soft and fresh.
But we women know how
important day-to-day care is
in order to look and keep
looking our prettiest."
YOU will find it's true!
His eyes will tell you
it pays never to neglect
the daily care that
gives you the appeal
of soft, smooth skin,
the fresh radiant look
- that says "glamour,"
always.
"What a wonderful feeling . . .when you know
your skin looks smooth and lovely. That's
why I never neglect my daily Active-lather
facials with Lux Soap. Feels like smoothing
beauty in when I cover my face with that
creamy lather, and work it in thoroughly!"
"In any man's vocabulary it's 'glamour'. . .
skin that's lovely to look at — soft to touch."
And our star concIudes:"After you've rinsed
with warm water, then cold, and pattedyour
face dry with a soft towel, you know your
Lux Soap facial's a beauty care that works!''''
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/?o H/o/rtferffoufof/Oscree/? $fa/y ase /Y-f
"I'm thinking of a clever idea!"
The famous silverplate
with the two blocks
of sterling silver inlaid
at backs of bowls and
handles of most used
spoons and forks.
Cooyrighl 1945: Inlernalional Silver Co., Holmes & Edwards Div.,
Meriden,Conn.lnCanada!TheT.EalonCo.,Lld.°Reg.U.S.Pat.OII.
FREE
AUTO
196
PRACTICAL
SUGGESTIONS
that will help you to get
WW better gas mileage
PF* longer tire life
1PF* better performance
IMF* lower upkeep costs
Get a FREE COPY from any General
Motors dealer, or use coupon below.
Customer Research Dept., Room 1847 3
GENERAL MOTORS, DETROIT 2, MICH.
Please send FREE COPY of new edition 64-page
"Automobile User's Guide" — containing 196
practical suggestions on wartime operation.
Name..
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del
FANNIE HURST REVIEW
(Continued from page 8)
picture about teen-age young people, but
the authors are not concerned with the
problems" of our present young genera-
tion, for Alice Maybery and Corp. Joe
Allen are clean-minded, clean-hearted,
any-generation, youth.
After about two hours of the precious
twenty-four have passed, they are dumb-
founded with the miracle of love, and one
of the charms of this little picture is the
fact that this ancient miracle as it hap-
pens to two conventional and usual young
people, is as fresh as a rose.
Immediately the story becomes the
breathless pilgrimage of a young soldier on
leave, and his brand-new sweetheart,
lucky accident . . .
When Alice first loses the heel of her
pump in Pennsylvania Station, and the
lonely young Corporal rescues it for her,
she agrees to let him ride part way on
her bus. It is spring in New York. It is
spring in Central Park. Presently two
young people, who hadn't meant to do it
that way at all, find themselves in the
Park, and already a couple of hours have
been clipped off the precious forty-eight.
Yes, it is actually that simple. When
Alice leaves Corporal Allen that afternoon,
he exacts a promise from her to meet him
later. She calls out of the bus window,
"I'll meet you under the clock at the
Astor Hotel at seven."
Well, as you may suspect, Alice in the
end, is irresistibly drawn to The Clock.
Alice and Joe, admirably and unerringly
played by Judy Garland and Robert
Walker, are starry-eyed with miracle;
lovely with authentic innocence. They
swap home-towns, revel in the present.
Their rambles lead them from pillar to
post, from Metropolitan Museum to Fan-
tasia There is a tender idyll of a scene
in Central Park that is as sweet as dew,
and almost immediately following this,
we move into a hilarious episode which
lands them in a milk-delivery wagon.
The milkman, masterfully played by
that old master, James Gleason, offers
them a lift. On the way, ole man milk-
man sustains an eye injury which in-
capacitates him. Thus, at three a.m. the
Corporal and the young office girl are
jointly engaged in the procedure of milk-
servicing Mr. and Mrs. New York.
Well, scene by scene, which includes
breakfast in the home of the milkman, an
interlude in a lunchroom where Keenan
Wynn plays one of the funniest drunks
known to the screen, these young people
approach the decision of marriage.
The forty-eight hours shorten! The red
tape lengthens! The spectator sits on the
edge of his seat, breathless, but the picture
closes on Mr. and Mrs. Joe Allen, safely
wed.
The self-conducted religious marriage
ceremony, which these babes-in-the-
wood take in their own reverent hands,
following the civil ceremony, is an eye-
moistener.
"The Clock," no tear-jerker, is like that
This is more of an achievement than it
appears, because, actually, the story is
made up of a variety of unrelated circum-
stances. Anything could happen to a
couple of youngsters under these con-
ditions and anything does. Yet the story
remains believable. There is practically
only one touch of Hollywood.
After this simple girl and simple boy
marry we suddenly find Judy Garland far
too expensively negligeed, sitting up in bed
in an ornate hotel suite.
To go around the clock with Alice and
Joe, is small but lovely adventure.
AUTOGRAPHS!
There are a lot of things that we just like to
kid about — that are lots of fun, but nothing more.
This isn't one of those ' things. This is a serious
project that we're proud of. And you can be, too,
because it's really been swell the way you've
sprung to the colors. And it's all so beautifully
simple: You send us a quarter; we send you the
genuine signature of the star you've selected from
the list below. And what does your quarter do?
It goes right into the NAVAL AID AUXILIARY
FUND that has been set up to assist American
seamen and their families. What could be bet-
ter? Nothing, except one thing: Our offer of FIVE
for the price of FOUR! So send them in, dollars or
quarters — they're all headed for a proud purpose.
June AUyson
Don Ameche
Dana Andrews
Lois Andrews
Lauren Bacall
Jane Ball
Lucille Ball
Jess Barker
Anne Baxter
William Bendlx
Joan Bennett
Ingrid Bergman
Turhan Bey
Julie Bishop
Joan Blondell
Humphrey Bogart
Charles Boyer
Eddie Bracken
Jim Brown
Eddie Cantor
Margaret Chapman
Dane Clark
Claudette Colbert
Nancy Coleman
Ronald Colman
Richard Conte
Gary Cooper
Joseph Cotten
James Craig
Jeanne Crain
Dick Crane
Stephen Crane
Bing Crosby
Xavier Cugat
Helmut Dantine
Linda Darnell
Bette Davis
Gloria De Haven
Olivia de Havilland
Tommy Dix
Ted Donaldson
Brian Donlevy
Tom Drake
Jimmy Dunn
Jimmy Durante
Irene Dunne
William Eythe
Nelson Eddy
Jinx Falkenburg
Alice Faye
Geraldine Fitzgerald
Errol Flynn
Clark Gable
Ava Gardner
John Garfield
Judy Garland
Peggy Ann Garner
Greer Garson
Paulette Goddard
Betty Grable
Farley Granger
Cary Grant
Bonita Granville
Kathryn Grayson
Jon Hall
June Haver
Dick Haymes
Susan Hayward
Rita Haywortb
Sonja Henie
Paul Henreid
Katharine Hepburn
John Hodlak
Skippy Homeier
Bob Hope
Lena Home
Betty Hutton
Bob Hutton
Harry James
Gloria Jean
Van Johnson
Jennifer Jones •
Arline Judge
Danny Kaye
Kay Kyser
Alan Ladd
Hedy Lamarr
Dorothy Lamour
Carole Landis
Peter Lawtord
Joan Leslie
John Loder
Myrna Loy
Ida Lupino
Dtana Lynn
Fred MacMurray
Roddy McDowaU
Lon McCalllster
Dorothy McGuire
Trudy Marshall
Alan Marshall
Marilyn Maxwell
Carmen Miranda
Fibber McGee & Molly
Joel McCrea
Maria Montez
George Montgomery
Constance Moore
Dennis Morgan
George Murphy
Tom Neal
Lloyd Nolan
Merle Oberon
Edmund O'Brien
Margaret O'Brien
Virginia O'Brien
Donald O'Connor
Maureen O'Hara
Dennis O'Keefe
Kevin O'Shea
John Payne
Gregory Peck
Susan Peters
Walter Pidgeon
William Powell
Tyrone Power
Francis Raflerty
Ella Raines
Martha Raye
Ronald Reagan
Walter Reed
George Reeves
Ginger Rogers
Roy Rogers
Rosalind Russell
Gall Russell
Ann Rutherford
Eddie Ryan
Peggy Ryan
Ann Sheridan
Dinah Shore
Ginny Simms
Frank Sinatra
Red Skelton
Ann Sothern
Barbara Stanwyck
Shirley Temple
Gene Tierney
Phyllis Thaxter
Spencer Tracy
Sonny Tufts
Lana Turner
Robert Walker
Cornel Wilde
Esther Williams
Jane Withers
Monty Woolley
Jane Wyman
Loretta Young
Robert Young
Enclosed please find 25c in □ stamps
□ paper-wrapped coin, for an NAA card
autographed by
I understand I 'am to enclose 25c for each
additional autograph I request but that only
SI. 00 will now pay for 5 autographs.
My name is..
I live at
City
State
NAA EDITOR, MODERN SCREEN
9136 Sunset Blvd., Los Angeles 46, Calif.
B E R G M A N
The.
Incomparable!
Winner of screendom's
most coveted lionor, The
Academy A\va*d...Tlie First
Lady of tlte Screen ... as a
woman of science, gjainl>ling
life and love to unlock, tne
fearful secret in tte neart of
a man — wanted for nmtder!
DAVID O. SELZNICK
presents
INGRID BERGMAN
GREGORY PECK
in
AlFRED HITCHCOCK'S
Fill
A SELZNICK INTERNATIONAL PICTURE
Screen Play by Ben Heclit • Released thru United Artists
■
■
i
i
n
Congratulations to
MODERN SCREEN
On its 15tli Anniversary
rom
20tli CENTURY-FOX
CeU rating its
Anniversary !
a a Uv a Play Produced by v.na"«= » Harry Warren
Sugge*ted by a nay ^ Maek Gordon and Horry
BY LEONARD FEATHER
■ MODERN SCREEN'S new, top
notch Swing and Jazz Editor,
Leonard Feather swings right into
the mood of this, our 15th Anni-
versary issue, and jogs us back
to the music world of boop-boop-
a-doop and Rudy Vallee — into the
year 1930. So climb on the band-
wagon with Leonard and Joe, his
purely - figment - of -the-imagination
assistant, for a big name musical
memory tour. — Ed. Note.
Les Brown, Doris Day, and yours truly, Leonard Feather, Cafe Rouge'ing at N. Y.'s Penna. Hotel
Well, here we are in 1930, and the
music business certainly is in a state
of turmoil this year. Looks as though
these talkies may turn out to do some
good for us after all, instead of throw-
ing all the musicians out of work. They
say that 9,000 out of the 22,600 movie
theaters are wired for sound now, and
it's going to take a lot of musicians to
make the sound tracks for all these
musical films that are springing up.
(Joe, better get some arrangements
made up on that rumba number, "The
Peanut Vendor." Looks like it's a hit.
And fix up those songs we heard on the
radio last night — "Dancing With Tears
In My Eyes," "Crying For The Carol-
ines," "Tiptoe Through The Tulips"
and "High Society Blues,"
willy a?)
Yes, everybody's going
movie minded; songwriters
and publishers and actors are
invading Hollywood and it's
another Gold Rush. They say
Gershwin's on his way out
West to write the score for a
new musical. Those "Girl
Crazy" songs of his sound all
right, too — "Embraceable
You" and what's the other
one? Oh yes, "I Got
Rhythm"
This kid Lewis Ayres, the
boy who was a banjo player
and medical student at the
University of Arizona, he's
making quite a name for him-
self as a movie star, what
with "All Quiet On The Western Front"
and another one coming up. Not bad
for a banjo player, huh?
{Joe, get these out for the next set —
"Boop-Boop-A-Doopa-Doo Trot" and
"Betty Co-Ed" (Continued on page 91)
tit
•IS
Congratulations
Modern Screen
on its
15th Anniversary
from
Paramount
The WorWs Most Honored Film Company
which has set a winning record with
these Awards:
8 ACADEMY AWARDS
LOOK MAGAZINE AWARD
REDBOOK'S ANNUAL AWARD
PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE MEDAL
and which is currently creating a
romantic riot as Joan Fontaine
flirts her way into everyone's heart
in her first gay, romantic comedy
"The Affairs of Svsan"
TlUl/ssz
says
Hold on to your men, girls... here conies
Joan Fontaine
And does that girl have what it takes to snare the
boys as she plays Susan — a divine man-trap in her
first gay, romantic comedy. "Slick trick" Susan
uses a different line for each one — and they all
work, but beautifully.
You'd think she didn't
know anything when
she meets George
Brent. So wide-eyed
and innocent (you
know — the sweet sixteen
act that makes
men so protective) !
Some men, like
Dennis O'Keefe,
take women
seriously! So
Susan puts on
glasses and takes
up a good book
-and she can write
her own story
from there on!
DENNIS O'KEEFE
Don DeFore
Rita Johnson • Walter Abel
Directed by WILLIAM A. SEITER
A Paramount Picture
WEAREVER
Write him Today!
O. K,. INC. I»*S
By Virginia Wilson
A THOUSAND AND ONE NIGHTS
■ You aren't going to believe a word of this, but it seems that in Baghdad a
thousand years ago there was a super-crooner named Aladdin, who was the
Sinatra of his day. Every time Aladdin (Cornel Wilde) made with the musical
notes, the anklet brigade (they didn't have bobby sox in Baghdad) swooned all
over the place.
Aladdin has a disreputable pal, Abdullah (Phil Silvers), who picks pockets
while the crowd listens to the crooner. Aladdin frowns on this, but Abdullah
loves picking pockets! Only there comes a day when he's caught in the act and
he and Aladdin have to scram. While scramming, they meet the litter of Princess
Marjianna (Adele Jergens), being borne through the streets. Aladdin, who's the
adventurous type and something of a wolf besides, distracts the guards' attention
and climbs into the litter. He pitches a little woo with the beautiful princess and
makes a date to meet her in the palace gardens that night.
They fall in love during their date, and Aladdin absentmindedly starts to croon,
which brings the palace guards on the run. He is tossed into jail, where he finds
his friend, Abdullah. The princess runs to her father, the King, to ask for Aladdin's
release. What she doesn't know at this point is that the real king has been kid-
napped, and his twin brother, Hadjii, a very nasty piece of work, has taken his
place. Naturally her request is refused, for Hadjii plans to marry her off to the
highest bidder.
The Princess' pretty handmaiden, Novina (Dusty Anderson) distracts the jailer
while Aladdin and Abdullah escape. They encounter a sorcerer, a genie, and a
magic lamp. Now a magic lamp is a very handy trinket to have around, since all
you have to do is rub it and your wish is granted. The catch in this case is that the
genie of the lamp is a voluptuous looking wench (Evelyn Keyes) who gets a yen
for Aladdin and is very uncooperative about helping him win the Princess; Since
this is a fairy tale, it must have a happy ending, so Aladdin, who simply can't make
up his — no, on second thought, I wont tell you. Col. (Continued on page 22)
Aladdin (Cornel Wilde) loved a princess in old Baghdad, though to see Marjianna (Adele
Jergens) with her tace unveiled meant death! With a mystic lamp and a genie fair — who's
a bit of a problem, too — in prisons dark and misty lands, Aladdin fights for love.
The Reception Committee-
(KNOW ANYBODY HERE?)
The Patriot. Always talk-
ing about all the things he goes
without. Mentions the War
Bonds he buys as though he
were doing the Government a
favor. This makes veterans
(who've been buying plenty of
Bonds themselves) wonder
whether we had the right peo-
ple in foxholes.
Prepared by the War Advertising
Council, Inc., in Cooperation with
the Office of War Information and
the Retraining and Reemployment
Administration.
Tbe Rock. He's nerveless. The Iron Man. War
hasn't affected him. Can't understand why dis-
charged veterans are allowed 90 days to relax before
going back to their old jobs. Can't understand why
they should need time to get over the War. He
doesn't. Combat Officers would love to have this type
in their care for a while. :
Blue Ribbon Citizen. Like all
good people, she asks no questions,
weeps no tears, doesn't stare at disabili-
ties. To her, a returned veteran is an
abler, more aggressive and resourceful
citizen than the boy who went away.
She's proud of him, proud to know him.
Anxious to be of real help. She's the
kind of person we should all be.
PUBLISHED IN COOPERATION WITH THE DRUG, COSMETIC AND ALLIED INDUSTRIES BY
WORLD'S FAVORITE EYE MAKE-UP
NEW HONORS FOR
THE SCREEN'S MOST
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BRING ANOTHER GREAT
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Meet that stage
sensation . . .
John Dall!
A LOVE THAT RIPENED TOO FASTI
Directed by
with JOHN DALL • JOAN LORRING • NIGEL BRUCE* RHYS WILLIAMS • IRVING RAPPER
Produced by JACK CH ERTOK • Screen Play by Casey Robinson & Frank Cavett • From the Stage Play
by EMLYN WILLIAMS • Produced by Herman Shumlin • Music by Max Steiner
n
Mil
V
7
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MOVIE REVIEWS
{Continued from page 18)
LE SONIER, Inc. New York - Boston
P. s.
This is a Technicolor extravaganza of
Old Baghdad told in swingtime. Although
it's based on the 9th Century Arabian
Nights adventure of Aladdin, the narra-
tion of the fairy tale is in terms of 1945
sophisticated humor, contemporary jive-
talk and streamlined romance. . . . The
film required an entire section of ancient
Baghdad to be recreated at the Columbia
ranch for exterior sequences. . . . Other sets
were constructed at the studio. . . . This
gives Cornel Wilde his first chance to sing
on the screen. The vocalizing is not new
to the actor, however. He sang on the
Broadway stage in "The White Plume"
and "Fashion". . . . Another accomplish-
ment which Wilde reveals for the first
time is fencing. He was a member of the
U. S. Olympic Fencing Team in 1936.
During the filming of the sword scenes,
Cornel was injured when Dennis Hoey's
blade slipped, lacerating the center finger
of Wilde's left hand. Cornel didn't mind
the necessary six stitches which had to be
taken but fretted because his wedding
ring had to be sawed from his finger: He'd
worn it for seven years. . . . Evelyn Keyes
discovered an allergy for horses while
making this picture. Whenever she got
near one, she'd sneeze and cough — touch-
ing a horse seemed to give her a rash.
THE CORN IS GREEN
Most of us have thought, one time or
another, "What's the use of going to school,
anyway? I'd be just as well off without
so much education." In "The Corn Is
Green," a brilliant young student begins
to feel that way, and his teacher has quite
a battle on her hands. Since Bette Davis
plays the dynamic, stubborn teacher, you
can be sure she'll win out. But John
Dall, as the pupil, makes the question of
school or no school an unexpectedly en-
grossing one.
All this takes place in a small Welsh
village. Miss Moffat, the teacher, has come
there from London. When she sees boys
from ten to seventeen or eighteen, who
can't read or write, working in the mines,
she feels that something must be done
about them. So she starts a school, using
her own money, and conducting classes
in her own house. She runs into a lot of
difficulties, which is partly her own fault.
She isn't a very tactful person, and she
antagonizes the local Squire (Nigel
Bruce) .
Miss Moffat would, perhaps, have given
up, if it hadn't been for Morgan Evans.
Morgan, a boy of eighteen, shows promise -
of a writing talent amounting to genius,
and she devotes two years of concentrated
effort to getting him ready for Oxford.
Then Morgan goes suddenly berserk.
Discouragement and rebellion and li-
quor have conspired to lure Morgan into
a brief affair with an impudent little
servant girl. Bessie (Joan Loreing) has
been flaunting about the place with an air
of secret satisfaction, lately. She takes
the greatest delight in telling Miss Mof-
fat, whom she hates, that she is going to
have a baby. But the Squire has decided
to pay Morgan's way through Oxford,
and he has a brilliant future before him.
Which way does his duty lie?
You may or may not agree with the
solution, but you'll certainly agree that
Bette is tops in this picture, and that both
John Dall and Joan Lorring are definite
discoveries. — War.
P. s.
This show had four-and-a-half years on
Broadway. . . . Warner Brothers bought
it especially for Bette Davis. . . . With the
play came jour of the original New York
cast: Rhys Williams, Rosalind Ivan, Mil-
dred Dunnock and Gene Ross. . >. . Here
are a couple of notes about nexocomers
John Dall and Joan Lorring. Dall and
Miss L. are completely unknown to movie
audiences. He is six foot, 26 years old,
the son of Charles Thompson, noted civil
engineer. Pop's icork took him to Panama
where John joined the cast of his first
amateur play called "Yes Means No." . . .
Joan got her role through circumstances
rivaling a pxiblicity man's dream. Chertok
and Rapper were at wits' end for a girl
to play Bessie Watty. They cried on the
shoulder of Rhys Williams who promised
to keep an eye open for a gal. One morn-
ing Rhys' car wouldn't start and he hailed
a passing motorist. The motorist turned
out to be Casey McGregor, small-parts
actor at Universal. They talked shop and
Rhys told McGregor of their plight. Casey
knew just the girl. He knew Joan. She
read the part to Chertok and Rapper and
was engaged without a test. . . . Joan's
father, an English broker, is a prisoner of
the Japanese, interned at Hong Kong.
OUT OF THIS WORLD
Eddie Bracken as an ex- Western Union
messenger turned radio crooner presents
a hilarious spectacle. He embraces the
microphone fondly, rolls his eyes heaven-
ward, opens his mouth — and Bing Crosby's
voice comes out! You'll love it! Especially
the scene where Bing's four sons are listen-
ing and one of them says "I've heard that
voice before." "Yeah, but I still like the
guy with the bow tie!" retorts another.
Herbie Fenton (Eddie Bracken) be-
comes a crooner by sheer accident. The
accident being that beautiful Dorothy
Dodge (Veronica Lake) faints when he is
singing at an amateur performance. Betty
Miller (Diana Lynn) signs him up to sing
with her girls' orchestra at fifty dollars a
week. Betty needs money to take the
band to New York where they have been
offered a radio job, so she sells pieces of
Herbie's contract around town. The
trouble is, she's not so good at arithmetic,
and finds she has sold one hundred-and-
twenty-five percent of Herbie!
They get the radio job, and Herbie is a
sensation! That is partly due to Dorothy
Dodge, who has twenty-five percent of him,
and who hires "swooners" at three bucks
per swoon. Anyway, he is offered huge
sums for personal appearances, and Betty,
who doesn't dare tell him about her mud-
dled finances, is in the nasty position of
losing more money the more Herbie makes.
He is in love with Betty, and she loves
him too, but she feels she must straighten
things out before she can let him know it.
Then Herbie's "owners" get together and
find out the situation. The sponsor finds
out, too, and Betty is threatened with jail.
Of course it all works out, with a musical
accompaniment that will really send you.
There's a lovely ballad called "June Comes
Around Every Year" and a very funny
number by Cass Daly, "Sailor With An
Eight Hour Pass." Don't miss this picture,
girls, because it's pretty special. — Par.
P. S.
Hard to beat Paramount when it comes
to a high-stepping musical. And it's hard
to beat Eddie Bracken when it comes to
stepping in them. . . . The story is a
typically Bracken story and he comes
through it in fine style. ... As the girl
band leader, Diana Lynn insures herself
against ever being typed. Every role she's
(Continued on page 26)
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23
done has been completely different. This
time she goes glamorous. She plays the
part with an abandon worthy of her less
than twenty years. . . . Veronica Lake
does the "other woman" role in the best
Theda Bara tradition. Her clothes (de-
signed by Edith Head) gave the Hayes
office more headaches than they've had
since they tried to get Lana Turner out of
sweaters. Even when the clothes were re-
designed there was not much they could
do about what Miss Lake puts into them.
WITHOUT LOVE
A new Katharine Hepburn-Spencer
Tracy picture is definitely an event in the
cinema world. "Without Love" will re-
mind you of "Woman Of The Year" and
"Keeper Of The Flame," which is nice
reminding. There's a luminous quality
about Katie these days that makes her
more exciting than ever. Spencer, as al-
ways, contributes solid acting.
He plays Pat Jamison, a scientist doing
experimental work for the government.
Pat is looking for a room in Washington.
But he's different from most people — he
finds one! It's in a house belonging to
Jamie Rowan (Katharine Hepburn), a
young widow who spends most of her
time on her farm in Virginia. Pat goes to
the house with a drunk who shares his
taxi and who is Jamie's cousin. The drunk,
Quentin (Keenan Wynn), assures him
that Jamie won't mind their using her
house. She'll be delighted. As a matter
of fact, when Jamie drops in the next day
she mistakes Pat for a caretaker the em-
ployment agency was to send over. She
even hires him — and. then fires him five
minutes later for impertinence.
When she finds out who he really is
and the importance of the work he's doing,
she consents to let him stay. That will
,11 LY JULEP
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be her contribution to the war effort. But
when she gets back to the farm, she
broods over some things he has said to
her. She realizes that he has made her
feel young and alive and a woman for the
first time since her husband's death. Of
course she's not interested in love. But
then, Pat isn't either. He was in love once,
and it didn't work out. So Jamie goes up
to Washington with a plan. Why couldn't
she and Pat get married — without love?
They could work together, she would help
him, and they'd be good for each other.
All purely platonic!
Pat is dubious, but Jamie is very per-
suasive and he finally consents. Every-
thing progresses beautifully until a serpent
enters the Garden Of Eden. The serpent
is handsome and well-dressed, with wavy
hair and quite a technique. His name is
Paul (Carl Esmond) and his effect on this
marriage-in-name-only is devastating.
There are amusing lines and situations
in "Without Love." There is also Lucille
Ball, Felix Bressart, Patricia Morrison,
and an unidentified dog who steals every
scene in which he appears.— MGM
P. S.
Spencer Tracy tried to sneak away after
this one was in the can (Hollywood
slanguage for completed) for a short vaca-
tion at the Arizona Biltmore. Spent most
of his time there poring over scripts.
Bets are that Spence was looking for a
Broadway show to appear in. . . . During
production of the picture, Tracy's birthday
rolled around and Lionel Barrymore came
onto the set with an original sketch of hi)
late brother, John Barrymore, done by
John Sargent in 1923. . . . Peggy Gough,
Spence's former secretary, sent him a
Nazi Party pin from Germany where she
is Red Crossing. . . . Katharine Hepburn
had to come from Connecticut for thi»
one. First spot in Los Angeles that Katie
heads for is usually Chinatown where she
stuffs herself with the delicious fried
shrimp and chop suey. This time she
caused, a mild sensation — was so mobbed
she couldn't even have dinner. The
Chinese natives in the village remembered
her terrific performance in "Dragon
Seed." . . . Lucille Ball and Desi Arnaz
celebrated their wedding anniversary dur-
ing production. They gave one another
a post-war tennis court for their home
in the shape of War Bonds.
IT'S IN THE BAG
Fred Allen ambles his wisecracking
way through this entertaining yarn as the
owner of a flea circus. He is aided and
abetted by Jack Benny, Binnie Barnes,
William Bendix, Robert Benchley and a
flock of other well-known names. The
plot concerns itself with his efforts to
collect an inheritance left him by a cousin
who has been murdered.
Fred (his last name's Floogle instead of
Allen in the picture, but let's just call
him Fred) doesn't know at first that his
cousin was murdered. The police called it
suicide. The papers referred to him as
AN ADVERTISEMENT OF PEPSI-COLA COMPANY
a millionaire and said Fred was his sole
heir. On the strength of that, Fred and
his wife, Eve (Binnie Barnes), and their
daughter, Marian (Gloria Pape), go com-
pletely haywire. They move into a tower
suite in New York's snootiest hotel. They
order a lot of de luxe clothes, and Fred
rtarts betting a thousand bucks instead
of two on the fourth race at Belmont.
Only Fred's son, Homer (Dickie Tyler),
aged twelve, remains calm. Homer is a
genius, and money holds little interest
for him. Fred's arch enemy, an insect
exterminator named Parker (Robert
Benchley), lives at the same hotel. His
son is in love with Fred's daughter, and
now that Fred is the heir to a fortune,
Parker withdraws his previous objections.
But, alas! When Fred goes to see his
cousin's lawyer, he has a rude awakening
from this dream of wealth. The lawyer,
Pike (John Carradine), says his cousin's
fortune is spent. All Fred gets is a set of
Louis Sixteenth chairs. Homer takes the
chairs off to sell them to an antique
dealer, and while he's gone, Fred gets a
message from his dead cousin. It was
left at a bank to be delivered after his
death, and says that he has been threat-
ened and may be murdered. It also says the
evidence and two hundred thousand dollars
will be found in one of the six antique
chairs. Fred calls the dealer frantically,
only to be informed that the chairs have
been sold to six different people.
The rest of the picture is devoted to a
mirth-provoking search for the two hun-
dred thousand dollars. The highlights are
Fred's interview with Jack Benny who
has bought one of the chairs, Fred's and
Eve's visit to the movies, and a scene
where Fred has to carry what he thinks
is a corpse for six blocks. If you're look-
ing for fun, "It's in the Bag!"— U.A.
P. S.
The script of this picture was prac-
tically rewritten during production. Most
of the members oj this comedy cast are
terrific in the ad lib department — espe-
cially Benny, Allen, and Bob Benchley —
and when the scheduled punch line didn't
suit one of them they simply changed it —
impromptu! . . . Fans of Bob Benchley
(and who isn't?) will get a good laugh
from his mouse-trap demonstration. Just
the thought of it should bring a giggle.
. . . Three screen debuts in this picture:
"Sugar Blonde" Gloria Pope, Chevy Chase
graduate, plays Fred Allen's daughter; 12-
year-old Dickie Tyler, popular with
Broadway theatergoers, makes his cinema
debut as Allen's precocious son; and "Mrs.
Nussbaum" (real name—Minerva Pious)
was brought to Hollywood for a role
similar to the one she plays on the air.
. . . Binnie Barnes returns to the screen
after more than a year away. You'll be
glad she did when you see her and Fred
Allen demand their money back for a
movie show. . . . The voice of Mary
Livingstone (Mrs. Jack Benny) supplies
one of the most comical moments in "It's
in the Bag" although Mary does not ap-
pear in the picture.
WHERE DO WE GO FROM
HERE?
This picture skips with reckless abandon
from one century to another, hitting the
high spots from 1492 to 1942. But don't
get the idea that it's any cavalcade of
history. Any resemblance between it and
history is purely coincidental. It's a lot
.of gay, musical nonsense, whipped to a
froth by Fred MacMurray, Joan Leslie and
June Haver. Fred seems a bit bewildered
through it all, and that's only natural.
After all, he starts out as a civilian in
1942 and bounces around through the
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centuries and the Army, Navy and
Marines. You can't do that? Well, watch!
The civilian is a guy named Bill who is
4-F, in love with a girl named Lucilla
(June Haver) who goes for uniforms. Then
there's another girl named Sally (Joan
Leslie) who's in love with Bill. So there
we are with the eternal triangle going
along normally enough, when Bill finds an
antique lamp. He gives it a couple of ab-
sent minded rubs, there's a puff of smoke,
and a Genie materializes. The Genie is a
carefree gent called Ali, who tells Bill
to make a wish and he, Ali, will see to its
immediate fulfillment. "I wish I were in
the U. S. Army!" says Bill loudly. The
next minute he's marching along in uni-
form. But there's a slight difficulty. It.
seems that a century more or less isn't
important to a Genie, and the uniform
Bill is wearing belongs to the Revolution-
ary War! In fact, he is with General
Washington's Army at Valley Forge.
Bill tries to be helpful. After all, he has
a pretty accurate knowledge of what future
events will be. This leads him into
trouble, though, and he is about to be
shot as a spy when Ali hastily appears
and whisks him into another century.
This time Bill finds himself a sailor —
aboard Christopher Columbus' ship en
route to America. His next transformation
puts him on Manhattan Island, which is
still in the possession of the Indians. Bill
buys it for twenty-three dollars. Sally ap-
pears as an attractive Indian maiden, and
he realizes he loves her instead of Lucilla,
but it takes another century or so to
straighten things out, and put Bill in the
Marines.
Nonsense? Sure! But ifs the kind of
nonsense that gives you a pleasant eve-
ning. And it's in Technicolor. — T.C.F.
P. S.
This, as you may have guessed by the
review, is completely zany. But it's guar-
anteed to loosen up the tightest war nerve.
. . . The story, by Morrie Ryskind, was
bought in brief synopsis form for $50,000
—the entire movie cost over two million
dollars. The music is by Kurt Weill and
the whimsical Gilbertese lyrics were done
by Ira Gershwin. . . . No one but Gregory
RatofJ could have directed it. . . . This is
Fred's first picture under his brand new
20th Century -Fox contract. . . > Joan
Leslie was borrowed from Warner Broth-
ers.
THE MAGNIFICENT ROGUE
Joseph Schildkraut has the kind of role
actors dream about in this picture. There's
a large cast, including Billie Burke,
Eugene Pallette, Ona Munson, Robert
Livingston and Anne Gillis. But it is
Schildkraut, as "the magnificent Rogue,"
who dominates the plot.
Mr. M. comes unexpectedly into the lives
of the Pidgeon family of Park Avenue.
R is Christmas time and the Pidgeons
have decided to take a "charity case" into
their home for the holidays. I regret to
say that it is not entirely Christmas spirit
which prompts this gesture. Theresa, the
Pidgeon's elder daughter, has become en-
gaged to Stephen Bates (Robert Living-
ston) of Boston. The Bates are known for
their charitable work, and Theresa per-
suades her father (Eugene Pallette) and
mother (Billie Burke) that this will make
a good impression. Angela (Anne Gillis),
Theresa's kid sister, thinks it's pretty silly,
but Angela is strictly a brat and thinks
everything is silly.
The "charity case" turns out to be Mr.
Marchand (Joseph Schildkraut), an ex-
matinee idol who was crippled years ago
in an auto accident. He is a handsome,
cynical drunkard, who can be utterly
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charming. He proceeds to charm the
Pidgeons and practically take over the
household. An uncle of Mr. Pidgeon
chooses this time to die and leave five
million dollars. He leaves it, not to Mr.
Pidgeon, but to an actress named Florrie
Watson whom he knew when she was a
child. Of course, if Florrie can't be lo-
cated, Mr. Pidgeon will get the dough.
And can he use it!
The Pidgeons cook up a plot to find
Florrie themselves and keep the news of
her inheritance away from her. They find
her (Ona Munson) broke but cheerful,
but they have counted without Mr. M.
There's something uncanny about that man
and his effect on people. Before the
Pidgeons know what's going on, they find
themselves changing into a nice, sweet,
old-fashioned family. Even Angela starts
to develop some endearing qualities. The
ending is sweet, with the somewhat sticky
sweetness of Christmas candy. — Rep.
P. S.
Most of this picture was done on one
stage set . . . Republic's stage 10. This is
the most expensive set Republic has ever
produced — cost close to thirty thousand
dollars. The Chinese Chippendale furni-
ture was found in antique shops and base-
ment second hand stores in Los Angeles.
Every piece is authentic — selected by some
of the top men in the furniture business.
... A crew of 200 men worked night and
day for several weeks getting the furni-
ture cleaned and polished and arranged
onto the set. . . . Ann Gillis was victim of
a ptomaine poisoning attack — was rushed
off the set to the hospital. Was back to
work two days later with, a registered
nurse standing close by. . . . Since most
of the cast were former stage actors,
everyone on the other end of the camera
was amazed at how quickly the picture
was done. Stage actors very seldom
"blow" their lines, and before the picture
was done Joseph was known as "One Take
Schildkraut." ... At the close of the pic-
ture, Mr. Schildkraut was given a new
contract by the studio. It calls for three
pictures a year with an interval of three
months each fall in case Joseph wants to
do a stage play in the East.
PATRICK THE GREAT
Donald O'Connor, who's buzzing around
in a private's uniform and looking very
well, is at his most exuberant in his last
pre-Army picture. Peggy Ryan is teamed
with him, as usual, and Donald Cook and
Frances Dee complete the rectangle.
Donald O'Connor and Donald Cook play
Patrick Donahue, Junior, and Patrick, Sen-
ior, respectively. Pat Senior is a big name
in the theater. A bit of a ham, sometimes,
but still a good actor. Pat, Jr., is crazy
about show business, too. He's traveled
around with his dad, and now he's working
with a group of kids up in the Berkshires
to put on a show. Judy (Peggy Ryan) is
one of the kids, and Donald brings her to
New York on a weekend trip to see the
closing night of his dad's play. They meet
several producers at a party Pat, Sr., gives,
and one of them, Prentiss Johns, becomes
interested in the boy.
Mr. Johns comes up to the Berkshires
the next week to see Pat and the kids put
on their show. He likes it and offers Pat
the lead in his new Broadway production.
The kid is on top of the world and goes
off to find his father. Pat, Sr., is vacation-
ing at a mountain lodge, and when Pat
arrives he's away on a fishing trip. Pat
meets beautiful Lynn Andrews (Frances
Dee) at the lodge. Lynn hears him prac-
ticing a torchy love ballad from the new
show and thinks he has been disap-
pointed in love. She tries to get his mind
off his troubles, with the result that when
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Pat, Sr., gets back, he thinks his son has
fallen in love with her. Lynn is in her
late twenties, and Pop thinks she would
be better suited to him than to Pat, so he
cuts Jr. out with neatness and dispatch.
Meanwhile Pat discovers that his father
had expected to get the leading role in
the Johns show, so he calls the producer
long distance and refuses the part. Johns
hurries up to the lodge and so does Judy
—in search of Pat. Things straighten out
to the eventual satisfaction of all con-
cerned.— Univ.
P. S.
Don made this picture just before going
into the service. His scenes were written
and staged long before the rest oj the -pic-
ture was ready for shooting. . . . This
marks the return of Donald Cook to the
screen after an absence of six years. Don,
who has been on the New York stage,
won the New York Critics' Medal for the
best light comedy performance of the 1942
season with his work in "Claudia." . . .
Since it was necessary to the filming that
menus in the story be of pre-war perfec-
tion, Universal, being kindly disposed
towards audiences, saves them the pain
of seeing the actual dishes. Scenes were
cut after ordering and the cast is shown
again after they have supposedly finished
their dinner.
COLONEL EFFINGHAM'S
RAID
William Eythe, whose name causes a
pleasant jingle at the box-office nowadays,
has the lead in this story of politics in a
Georgia city. Bill and Joan Bennett and
Charles Coburn make the most of its
humor and occasional pathos.
Newspapers have always been a potent
factor in American life. That's why the
freedom of the press is so important to
our way of living. In the town of Fred-
ericksville, Georgia, the papers are pretty
much under the domination of the politi-
cal machine — that is,, until Colonel Ef-
fingham comes along. The Colonel is
retired from the Army, but he's still a
fighter When he arrives in his home town
of Fredericksville, he is not pleased at the
conditions he finds there, and he decides
to do something about them.
The Colonel's cousin, Al (William Eythe) ,
is a reporter on The Leader, one of the
two foremost newspapers. Al is an easy-
going young man who believes in mind-
ing his own business as far as politics are
concerned. He covers the loeal news
events with his tongue in his cheek, and
spends the rest of his time squabbling
amiably with Ella Sue (Joan Bennett),
the paper's society reporter. Then the
Colonel with Al's unwilling, and to some
extent unwitting, aid, becomes a column-
ist on The Leader. The editor, who has
the impression that the Colonel is a slightly
loony but harmless old gent, discovers
that he has a tiger by the tail. The Col-
onel's opinions are not only directly op-
posed to those of the political bosses, but
they are expressed with military forceful-
ness. And people read them!
The main point at issue is whether the
courthouse, which is a beautiful and his-
toric old building, should be repaired or
torn down completely. The Mayor and
his cohorts want to tear it down and build
another, at considerable expense to the
county and profit to themselves. The
Colonel objects strenuously, but soon finds
that his supporters desert him when
enough pressure is brought to bear on
them. So Al, reluctantly at first, then de-
terminedly, comes to the rescue. — TCF.
P. S.
Lamar Trotti has come to be known as
a special type of producer. He's on
author — has worked on some oj the most
distinguished of the Fox productions, in-
cluding "Wilson." Consequently, as a pro-
ducer, he can sense a good movie story
immediately. He found "Colonel Effing-
ham's Raid" in a book store, mentally cast
the whole story in ten minutes. When
Fox bought it for him he cast it exactly
that way. . . . Charles Coburn, as Col.
Effingham, is cast into the medium in which
he was born. He's a native of Savannah,
Ga., was steeped in the traditions of the
old South and raised on stories of the
Civil War. Matter of fact, through all his
50 years on stage and screen he's dreamed
of playing a part like this. . . . Joan Ben-
nett celebrated her 14th amiiversary in
movies during production. She is playing
about the same type characters now as
she did when she entered the profession.
She's perfect as the sweet young Southern
gal — hard to believe she's the mother of
Diana Fox, 16; Melinda Markey, 10; and
Stephanie Wanger, 2 years old.
CHIXA SKY
Love and jealousy seem to flourish un-
der bomb-laden Chinese skies as well as
in the hot-house atmosphere of New York
night clubs. Take one handsome doctor,
played by Randolph Scott, add two women
in love with him, and you'd have an emo-
tional whirlpool even if it weren't com-
plicated by Jap spies and bombings.
The story is set in a hospital in a re-
mote Chinese village. Dr. Sara Durand
(Ruth Warrick) is in charge during the
absence of Dr. Thompson (Randolph
Scott). Thompson has been in America
getting new supplies, but he is expected
back almost any moment now. The pa-
tients are deliriously excited over his re-
turn. They all adore him. Sara is excited,
too, although she won't admit it, even to
herself.
There is a commotion outside, and a
patient cries "It's Thompson-doctor!" It
is indeed "Thompson-doctor," complete
with a beautiful, shiny new wife! Her
name is Louise (Ellen Drew) and she is
about as well suited to life in a Chinese
village as a chiffon nightgown would be
to life in an igloo. Sara covers her own
feelings gallantly and tries to be friendly,
but Louise takes an instant dislike to . her
and makes no effort to hide it. Her atti-
tude makes Thompson conscious of Sara
in a way he never has been before.
There is an important Jap prisoner in
the hospital, who was wounded by the
Chinese guerrilla, Chen Ta (Anthony
Quinn) . He is cared for by a native doc-
tor who is actually half-Jap. Between
them they evolve a plot which makes use
of Louise's cowardice. She falls for it and
the result is almost catastrophic.
Carol Thurston makes a luscious Chi-
nese nurse, and Philip Ahn is good as the
half-Jap doctor. — RKO.
P. S.
This is another Pearl Buck story —
guarantee to the movie-goer that it's based
on true life experience and actual locale.
. . . Randolph Scott was on the cast roster
to play Dr. Grey Thompson when RKO
first began filming preparations on the
show more than a year ago. This is one
of the strongest roles of his career. . . .
Ruth Warrick, you remember, is the radio
actress who won screen fame by playing
the wife of "Citizen Kane." . . . Quinn was
the only Occidental actor chosen to play an
Oriental role in this picture. His facial
contours require practically no make-up to
fit him for the part of the war lord who
falls in love with the Chinese nurse (Carol
Thurston). . . . Like Quinn, Carol requires
little doing over to qualify for the role of
a Chinese nurse.
B1GHT OR WRONG
Some e«1«ttenb° ..N„V
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FOR FANS
FOR GLAMOUR
•k SUPER STAR INFORMATION CHART (10c)
This is NEW1 A completely revised chart— tell-
ing you everything you've ever wondered about
such bright new stars as Lauren Bacall. Tom
Drake. Dane Clark, Phyllis Thaxter! We've
collected vital statistics— here they are— and
hundreds more, everything you want to know
about the lives, loves, hobbies and latest pics
of your favorites. Tells you where to write
to them, too. Send 10c and a LARGE, stamped
(3c) self-addressed envelope □
MUSIC MAKERS. THEIR LIVES. BANDS AND REC-
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bandleaders, vocalists — everyone from James to
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music maker, lists of their best records. A solid
must for all you hep cats. Send 5c, as well as a
LARGE, self-addressed, stamped (3c) en-
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HOW TO JOIN A FAN CLUB — Have yourself a
time! Join one or more of the 60 fan clubs
we've listed and get snaps of your favorite star,
club journals, chance for pen pals — and other
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■ send a LARGE, self-addressed, stamped (3c)
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INFORMATION DESK — Answers all your ques-
tions about H'wood, the stars and the movies.
See box on page 73 for details. THIS IS NOT
A CHART.
STAR AUTOGRAPHS— Turn to page 10 to see
how you con get autographs of all your favor-
ite stars.
PLEASE BEHAVE! — Help+ul, practical chart with
tips on how to be poised, well liked. Etiauette
tor dating, engagements, weddings, letter writ-
ing— the works. Free, just send a LARGE, self-
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CO-ED PERSONAL ADVICE— Want to know how
you can get that cute guy in Algebra class to
ask for a date? Or when it's cagey to pull a
"hard to get?" Write to our expert, Jean
Kinkead, c/o MODERN SCREEN. Tell her all,
and she'll personally write you a letter answer-
ing all those important, impossible problems of
the heart. THIS IS NOT A CHART. .
BE A BETTER DANCER! — by Arthur Murray Com-
plete, easy-to-follow directions on how to fox-
trot, waltz — all the turns and tricks that'll help
you follow1 your partner. Also dance floor eti-
quette, what to wear and how to be popular
vith the stag line. Free, just send a LARGE
self-addressed, stamped (3c) envelope.
□
HOW TO BE POPULAR WITH BOYS— by Jean
Kinkead How to be date bait, plus a complete
follow-through for when you're out with him.
The straight stuff on getting stood up, drinking,
smoking, tactics to get and hold your man!
FREE, send a LARGE, self-addressed, stamped
(3c) envelope D
i.
y
7
CRYSTAL BALL D E P"
r.
HANDWRITING ANALYSIS (10c) Send in a
sample ot your handwriting or your G.l.'s in
ink (about 25 words), and Shirley Spencer will
analyze it for you and tell you how he really
feels. Send 10c for each analysis and enclose
a self-addressed, stamped (3c) envelope. AD-
DRESS YOUR ENVELOPE TO MISS SHIRLEY
SPENCER, c/o MODERN SCREEN, but only
tor Handwriting Analysis. □
YOUR INDIVIDUALLY COMPILED HOROSCOPE
(10c) Fill in your birthdate: Year. . .
Month .
Date . , Time . .
Name • ■
Street .. City.... Zone . ... State :.
Send 10c to 149 Madison Avenue, N.Y. 16, N.Y.
No self-addressed envelope reauired □
* SPRING AND SUMMER FASHIONS FOR TEENS —
All the new tricks 'n' stuff to make you a glam-
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in the rain, on the train. Clothes ideas, mix-
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a slick chick. Free! Send a LARGE self-ad-
dressed, stamped envelope D
GLAMOUR FOR THE TEENS— This is 'specially
tor gals from 12 to 18. How to really glamour
yourself up. Skin care, make-up, hair-do's tor
your particular beauty problem. Fcee, just
send a LARGE, self-addressed, stamped (3d
envelope D
HOW TO BE BEAUTIFUL— For over 1 8s— a beauty
routine, skin and nail care, make-up styled to
your needs. Free, send a LARGE, self-addressed
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HOW TO HAVE LOVELY HAIR— Encyclopedia on
hair care. Hair-do's styled for you, setting in-
structions. Free, send a LARGE, self-addressed
stamped (3c) envelope □
HOW TO LOSE WEIGHT— 12-page chart givinq
you all the safe way to lose weight. 2 easy-
to-follow scientific diets. Exercises for reducing
every part of the body, plus scoring chart. Free,
send a LARGE, self-addressed, stamped (3d
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FASHIONS FOR TALL GIRLS — by Mariorie Bailey
Whether you're lanky-tall or chubby-tall, here
are lines and styles .to camouflage your height.
What's tops for you in coats, suits, dresses
Free, send a LARGE, self-addressed, stamped
(3c) envelope D
FASHIONS FOR SHORT GIRLS — by Marjorie Bailey
Fashion tricks to make you the willowy girl ot
your dreams. What to choose'in dresses, coots,
suits, hats to make you inches taller. Free
send a LARGE, self-addressed, stamped (3d
envelope . . • ■ • U
FASHIONS FOR STOUT AND THIN GIRLS— by
Mariorie Bailey How to appear thinner or more
curvaceous. Lines and styles that slenderize
hips, waist, bust, legs and those to cover up
that bony look. Free, send a LARGE, seH-
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32
ADDRESS YOUR ENVELOPE: Service Dept.. MODERN SCREEN, 149 Madison Avenue. New York 16. N. Y.
RECORDS OF THE MONTH
BEST POPULAR
All of My Life — Bing Crosby
(Decca), Kate Smith (Columbia)
He's Home For a Little While—
Les Brown (Columbia), Jerry
Wald (Majestic)
I'm Beginning To See the Light —
Hjarry James (Columbia), Duke
Ellington (Victor), Cootie Wil-
liams (Majestic)
I'm Gonna See My Baby — Jimmie
Lunceford (Decca), Phil Moore
(Victor)
I Should Care— Tommy Dorsey
(Victor), Jimmy Dorsey (Decca)
Laura — Woody Herman (Colum-
bia), Jerry Wald (Majestic)
My Dreams Are Getting Better All
the Time — Les Brown (Colum-
bia), Phil Moore (Victor), Louis
Prima (Majestic)
My Heart Sings — Hildegarde (Dec-
ca), Duke Ellington (Victor),
Johnny Johnston (Capitol)
This Heart of Mine — Ginny Simms
Columbia), Fred Astaire (Decca)
Yip Yip De Hootie, My Baby Said
Yes — Phil Moore (Victor),
Charlie Spivak (Victor)
BEST HOT JAZZ
King Cole — Bring Another Drink
(Capitol)
Benny Goodman Sextet — After
You've Gone (Columbia)
Edmond Hall Swingsters — Big City
Blues (Blue Note)
Edmond Hall Quartet — Shanty in
01$J Shanty Town (Commodore)
Billie Holiday — Lover Man (Decca)
Etta Jones-Barney Bigard — Blow1-
top Blues (Black & White)
Hot Lips Page— The Lady In Bed
(Continental)
Boyd Raeburn — March of The
Boyds (Guild)
Artie Shaw's Gramercy Five — Sad
Sack (Victor)
Teddy Wilson Quintet— Bugle Call
Rag (Musicraft)
BEST ALBUMS
After Dark — Morton Gould (Co-
lumbia)
King Cole Trio (Capitol)
Dennis Day Sings (Capitol)
Horowitz - Toscanini - NBC Sym-
phony— Brahms Concerto No. 2
(Victor)
Meet Me In St. Louis — Judy Gar-
land (Decca)
Music of George Gershwin— Andre
Kostelanetz (Columbia)
Andres Segovia (Guitar Solos)
Decca)
Sons of Norway — Kitty Carlisle
(Decca)
Sons? of Norway — Irra Petina (Co-
lumbia)
Tenor Sax — Hawkins, Byas, Young,
Webster (Savoy)
Continental Records, 265 W. 54th
St., N. Y.
Guild Records, 305 E. 63rd St., N.Y.,
Musicraft Corp., 40 W. 46th St.,
N. Y.
Majestic Records, 7 W. 46th St.,
N. Y.
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Your guy's comin'
home! You wanta perk
him with parties,
shout to he moon — but
don't, tor he's hurt and
bewildered and needs
to forget
Try again next time if your store
is out of T)e£ong Bob JHns today.
We're making more now, but still
not enough to meet the demand.
CO-ED LETTERBOX
My fiance has been in the South Pacific
for a year and a half. He is due for a
leave soon at which time we had planned
to be married. Now he seems to be get-
ting cold feet, and he thinks we should
wait. He knows a thousand and one rea-
sons why we shouldn't rush things. What
do you think is the trouble? J. B., Des
Moines, Iowa.
For one thing, he's had a lot of time
to think, J.B. He's not the hot-headed
kid he was when he left home. He has
a deeper sense of responsibility. A
solemn outlook on marriage. Probably
he's seen a lot of war marriages go to
pot. He's seen his buddies up_ to their
ears in debt because their child brides
thought their little allotment checks
were a lot of money. When you write,
don't sulk and don't bully him. Tell him
you think he may be very wise and that
you will have a lot to talk about when
he gets home. When -he does get back
discuss it all thoroughly and sensibly,
and then take him for a walk in the
moonlight and let your hearts have
something to say about it, too.
(Continued on page 101)
■ Are you one of the lucky, lucky ones
with a guy on the way home? A be-
loved big brother, maybe, or a nearly-
new husband, or a very best beau? If
you are, this is all yours. If you
aren't, won't you read it anyway,
'cause your turn is coming, maybe
sooner than you think.
You've got such plans, haven't you?
Parties, excitement, the bright lights.
You want to be terribly, terribly gay
to help blot out the sights and sounds
of war. Of course you do, but if you're
wise you won't shove hilarity down his
throat the minute he gets home. You
see, most of the returned kids are
quietly grieving. They have lost so
many friends. They, have suffered,
many of them, but more than that,
they have seen suffering. They are
sad beyond words, beyond tears. Oh,
they'll laugh again, never fear. They'll
paint the town the brightest shade of
red. But not right away. Let them for-
get a little first.
When your soldier went to war he
was a noisy, cocky guy, wasn't he? He
won't be like that when he first gets
home. He'll keep to himself a lot and
seem to shut you out. It's going to
hurt, but don't let him know. Be inter-
ested in whatever he wants to tell you,
but don't pry. Don't follow him around
with that worried look you've become
such a past-master at. And above all,
refrain from queries like, "What's the
matter with you?" And "Is it any-
thing I've done?"
The trouble is something like this.
He's home in body but his spirit is still
flying a B-29 or slogging through Rhine-
land mud. The adjustment from warrior
to man-on-leave is pretty terrific, so be
as patient as you can possibly be, and
be assured that the silences and the
brusqueness aren't directed at you.
He used to be the life of your own
little crowd. His jokes used to kill the
people, and the gang loved him to
death. And do you know that when
he comes (Continued on page 102)
JEAN
KINKEAD
Mrs. Robert W. Strong
Columbus, Ohio
"Try Camay ... as I did ... my
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Simply smooth Camay's mild lather over your face— forehead,
nose and chin. Rinse warm. If you've oily skin, follow with
a C-O-L-D splash. It's simple as that! But, oh, how exciting
to see how one cake of Camay can make your complexion
look lovelier . . . softer . . . more endearing!
Won't you— make each cake of Camay last as long as
possible? Soap is made of essential war materials.
come on, get clown to bare essentials . . .
the wonderful bare essentials of the
new Jantzens . . . like lines that take
the words right out of a man's mouth,
slimming fabrics, singing colors, in-and-
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left: Celanese rayon 7.95 ... right: wool 8.95
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JAN...Jantzen's new sun- cream
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am
• I'm glad of a chance to talk to
you readers about MODERN
SCREEN on its birthday. No
speeches. Just the personal angle —
I met Editor Al on a trip back
East after my first picture. Since then he's stayed
with us in Hollywood, borrowed my T-shirts, been
bossed by Sue, sneaked in at night to cover Alana up
because he was lonesome for his own kid, Pete. That's
how you get to know a guy — through the little things.
Getting to know Al, I understood why MODERN
SCREEN'S the kind of book it is.
He likes people. He cares what happens to them.
He knows the important part of living isn't parties
and big productions, but digging your garden and
laughing over some screwy joke with your wife and
chewing the fat with your pals in front of a fire.
The little things again. The things that make life
warm and good — that stay with you through the
years — -
That spirit is reflected in the magazine. Here movie
stars aren't names, but people. They're neither glori-
fied nor belittled. They're treated as you'd treat your
friends and as you'd like to be treated yourself. That's
Why I think of MODERN SCREEN as a friend. I
trust it for its belief in fair play. I respect it for its
sense of the dignity of the American home. I like
it for its warmth of heart.
Drink a toast with me, will you? — in a coke or a
milk shake or whatever concoction you go for at the
corner drugstore — make mine a chocolate soda. So
here's to MODERN SCREEN. May her shadow never
grow less, may her circulation grow more. Happy
birthday, good luck and long life to her. Bottoms up!
HAPPY
BIRTHDAY
i
TO
MODERN
SCREEN!
37
Mt's a star-studded party with no gates to crash
•>vause Sidney Skolsky will take you along.
First we see Louella Parsons feeding Hedy Lamarr.
I guess Louella felt Hedy had fed her so many
news items that turn-about was only fair play.
■ METRO-GOLDWYN-MAYER, a studio that is
topped by none in Hollywood, also had a party to
celebrate the fact that MODERN SCREEN was fifteen
years young. And of course Leo the Lion put on a
party that was a topper. Leo howled just as he
does when every Metro picture begins, and this was
the signal for the birthday party to start. It was
also the signal for Leo's players who cavort on the
screen to gather and have a time for themselves.
Leo also invited you and me, so we'll get going.
Jimmy D. tells John Payne, wifie Glo, E. Williams and Van he's "got a million of 'em.
38
Greer Garson and her shaggy French poodle get a big kick out of the
special newspaper extra for MODERN SCREEN'S birthday party, while
Tom Drake, Peter Lawford and Robert Walker peek at the headlines.
MORE PICTURES >
Here's John Payne at Gloria's studio party and she was at his. Glo's guy
reports he wasn't afraid of Leo the Lion, but he knows all about the wolves.
Sylvia Wallace, lovely West coast editor of MODERN SCREEN,
greets Judy Garland while Robert Walker and Peter Lawford,
a couple of wolves who make the bobbysockers howl, look on.
Van goes affectionate with Esther Williams while James Craig looks
on. Van's had plenty of practice for he's been in a couple of
pictures with Esther. James is still waiting to be her leading man.
Tom Drolce and Jan Clayton, who were a thing, are now just
friends. Jan went to New York to do the lead in the show
"Carousel" and Tom got himself married to Christopher Curtis.
Elizobeth Taylor brought her pet chipmunk, Nibbles, with
her to the party, and she's showing me the tricks it
can do. With Elizabeth it's love me, love my 'munk.
(Please turn to page 96)
41
HAPPY
Anne Baxter played hostess
and the kids ran wild — Sid-
ney Skolsky's our escort
so let's join the gang!
Come along inside with me. We're now in Anne Baxter's house and here
is John Payne having a time for himself by feeding June Haver oatmeal
so that she'll become a sweater girl without even needing the sweater.
What's a birthday party without a cake! Hostess Anne Baxter is ready to cut it and those sweeties waiting for -the
_sweets are June Haver, Vivian Blaine, MODERN SCREEN'S Sylvia Wallace. The fellas are D. Andrews and B.ll Eythe. I
42
BIRTHDAY FROM ^OrJl C^raTt-t.
Now we walk in on a playful scene. Anne Baxter is whispering
to Vivian Blaine while Bill Eythe cuts the ribbon on Anne's new
bonnet. Oh, well, you know how it is when kids get together!
■ MODERN SCREEN, the magazine
which is the liaison officer between you
and the movie players, is celebrating a
birthday. It is fifteen years young.
And I mean young. During all these
years it has been for the new players,
it has always given you the news, and
whenever a person joined the army of
new movie fans, they turned to Mod-
ern Screen.
So to celebrate its fifteenth Birth-
day, what could be more appropriate
than a youth party, a kiddie party,
which Twentieth Century-Fox, with
Anne Baxter as hostess, gave for this
magazine and you, its readers. Be-
cause Hollywood Is My Beat, I was
there — to be your guide, take you to
the party and tell you all about it.
MORE PICTURES
And if you don't know, here are John Hodiak and Gene Tierney
making a mud pie. The raggedy doll is- really Gene's for she
loves dolls. So does John, who has a doll named Anne Baxter!
K
Dick Haymes is the tough guy of the party. He came in a sweater and a
baseball cap, brought his own bat. You can see thatj have no chance
of winning this contest with Haymes, for if I do, he'll let me have it.
I said to June Haver, "Why don't you get c
bicycle?" So she did — a bike with a chauf
feur — who is none other than Bill Eythe
\
Now little June (my, how she dia get around at this party!) is asking cherubic
young Richard Crane about his teddy bear. Get a load of Dick Crane while
you're at it, because he is wearing the very latest in three cornered pants.
44
\
^^^^^^^^^
11
Nothing like a fast game of marbles to keep things rolling, and these champs
can shoot 'em.'' Stanley Prager, Henry Morgan, Eddie Ryan thought Vivian
Blaine would be easy to beat, but you should have seen her hit those nubs,
June Haver and Jeanne Crain are eating a piece of birthday cake, and June,,
who had plenty to eat (there was the oatmeal and a lollypop), is offering
Dana Andrews a piece" of hers. A good time, you'll admit, was had by all !
HAPPY
BIRTHDAY
■
PARAMOUNT
It was happy birth-
day with a western wallop:
Sonny Tufts was head
rancher, Sid Skolsky our guide.
Sonny Tufts and his guitar hay-haying with lovelies Marj
Reynolds, Diana Lynn, Barbara Britton, Mona Freeman,
Gail Russell and Ella Raines. Sonny strums a neat guitar.
46
■ MODERN SCREEN couldn't celebrate
the fact that it is fifteen years young with-
out a Happy Birthday from Paramount,
and a party at which none other than Sonny
Tufts was the host. It was a Western party,
for there is nothing actors like to do better
when they play than dress up. Sonny even
had the Les Paul Trio there to play West-
ern music, and in between times he
strummed a pretty mean guitar himself.
Believe me, when these Paramount kids
start playing there's bound to be plenty of
excitement. But enough of this chatter,
because you have to dust off that dude-
ranch cowboy garb of yours and rustle into
the stirrups. For you and I are going to
the party, and we'd better hurry or those
high-handed cowpunchers will have las-
soed all of the refreshments, not to men-
tion those pretty gals!
Barbara, Sonny Tufts and Joan Caulfield are very
mystified by that old rope trick of Roy Rogers, whose
studio, Republic, is now celebrating its I Oth birthday.
"Unhand that woman, man!" That's what Ella Raines appears to be saying to William Bendix, bu Mariorie Reynolds
the Belle of "Yukon" Tufts' place, doesn't appear disturbed, either by "One Gun Raines or Big Bill From the looks ot
things Ella's out not only to save Marj from the villain's clutches, but to put the snatch on that lucre he s fingenng.
47
MORE PICTURES
When a guy like Sonny Tufts searches 'for "Hall-Pint" Skol-
sky, he's apt to overlook me. I'll let you in on a secret:
That's how I get my items — by being present but unseen.
A Western shindig wouldn't be complete without Roy Rogers,
and here he is watching editor Sylvia Wallace handcuff
our host. He's been in this kind of picture before.
Eddie Bracken is explaining things in the Wild and Woolly
West to Olga San Juan, who can explain a few things herself,
famed as she is for that wicked samba that speaks for itself.
48
HAPPY BIRTHDAY from PARAMOUNT
While you and I watch, Alan Ladd tries to slip a pair of hand-
cuffs on Veronica Lake. We stand there delighted, for it's
just like watching them do a scene for one of their movies.
Raines, but
The struggling gal who's trying to pull on her boot is Ella
bet ten to one you'd never recognize the Westerner with
"thout Lana Turner.
you'd never recognize the Westerner with the pipe-
it's Turhan 8ey! Honest. Didn't think you'd know him witu-
4"
HAPPY BIRTHDAY from PARAMOUNT
(Please turn to page 96)
by courtesy of John Coy, Diana Lynn and Jim Brown.
Sonny and Veronica outwit the ciggie shortage with
their corn husk peace pipes. Well, so long folks,
thanks for coming to our parties, hope you've had fun.
51
Best dressed woman, Ljlyan Tashmon.
Most spiritually confused, Lew Ayres.
ble. Greatest lover, ot course
Joan Crawford's most "movie-starrish.
nq's trie most indifferent to success.
Sorry, Singer's uncooperative
Louella's seen stars eome and go
but these have burned the brightest:
Some sad, some gag — thenar e the ^mostest."
UNFORGETTABLE S!
Jti-Wi^ ■ 1 love to
reminisce. Also, I dearly
love to stick out my neck. If I didn't
like both of these journalistic sports
almost more than any other form of
writing, I would have had an entirely
*" """ different answer to hiy friend and
yours, Editor Al Delacorte, when he suggested:
"Look, Louella, let your hair down and GIVE, for our
fifteenth anniversary number. Tell us honestly, who, in
your opinion, has been the greatest lover, the most out-
spoken, the most cooperative, most beloved, wittiest,
wackiest, most generous, luckiest, most ambitious, most
flamboyant, most rebellious, most patriotic star."
I could have said to him, "Al, my hair is short — so I
can't let it down. And besides it might not be good
politics for me (since I am still in business) to go about
bestowing my own private Oscars and booby-prizes."
But did I say that? No. Being a smart boy as well
as a smart editor, he had caught me in my weakest spot
— and I think he knew it.
So, instead of playing smart and staying on the safe
side, I sat right down to my typewriter to bat out this
story on the actors and actresses, the boys and girls, the
wise ones and the foolish ones who, in my opinion, have
been the outstanding personalities' one way or another
since Modern Screen has been {Continued on page 81)
J. Barrymore had a most outrageous w
53
HOPPERS' SECRET MEMOIRS
it
M-h^i. ■ All right, Professor, a little soft
music, please. "Among my Souvenirs?"
No— hold it— "Thanks for the Mem-
^^^'^ ories," (excuse it, Bob Hope) that's
better. Because I wouldn't trade my
Hollywood memories for Bing Crosby's
contract. I wouldn't sell 'em for Louis B. Mayer's salary.
I've got a million of 'em, like Schnozzle Durante — a
million of 'em. Some are funny and some sad- Some
are bitter. Some are gay. Some are fantastic and some
are outrageous. And some, well — don't ask! But they're
all big events in the giddy life I've led, just like birth-
days. It's not my birthday, of course, but it is MODERN
SCREEN'S, and birthdays do something to me. They
make me expansive and sentimental and reminiscent and
maybe a little foolish. They make me want to bake a
cake and wrap gifts wrth ribbons and yell "Happy
Birthday!" So, a little soft music, Professor, while
Hopper takes down her hair — just a few bobby pins —
and, Happy Birthday MODERN SCREEN readers! Cut
yourself a piece of Hedda Hopper's Hollywood. It's on
the house. If you can stand it, I can. And it's been
cooking a long, long time.
So MODERN SCREEN is fifteen years old this month.
Well, it was twice that long ago that I first stepped a
fairy foot in fabulous Hollywood. Thirty years ago —
twenty-nine to be exact, come St. Swithin's Day — I tripped
past a glowering gateman at the old D. W. Griffith studio,
as bug-eyed as Bette Davis and as green as grass about
the movie world. I was a blushing bride, (honest) on the
arm of my husband, DeWolf Hopper, a swell actor your
mom and pop will remember. I had never been on a
Hollvwood set before. I was eager and had heard
"stories" — I was prepared for anything and, believe me,
I got it !
Griffith was shooting his big religious epic, "Intoler-
ance," then. Outside the studio wall traffic hummed busily
along Sunset Boulevard. Inside, I stepped back two thou-
sand years. Roman legionnaires brushed past me with
jangling armor, shields and spears. Arabs in white
burnooses padded by, and ancient Hebrews with bare feet
and shepherds' crooks. Chariots rumbled around behind
plunging horses. Dancers, fakirs, wise men, thieves,
kings, princes, houris, ragged urchins, goats, sheep,
mules, dogs, oxen all mixed around in the dry, dusty lot,
babbling, shouting, barking, braying. In one corner a
cage of lions split the din now and then with mighty roars.
I'd never seen anything like it before — the color, the mob,
the noise, the confusion. I was dizzy, but right in the
center of all the hullabaloo sat David Wark Griffith, the
daddy of modern Hollywood, and not so old then, calm,
cool and composed, lean, hawk-nosed, his smart eyes taking
everything in. He was shooting the crucifixion of Christ.
On a table beside him lay a Bible, his script. It was
open at the ageless scene. Right beside him Mary Magda-
lene read a novel by Elinor Glyn. Pontius Pilate was
getting a light from a Good Samaritan. A huge cross
reared up into the sky, and crucified on its arms — at least
40 feet up it seemed to me — was the Savior. On each side
rangled two thieves on lesser crosses. Cameramen, cast
and carpenters looked about; nobody seemed to be doing
anything. Everyone gazed anxiously at the sky.
"Fog," said Griffith. "Call off the crucifixion." You
couldn't have a crucifixion in this crazy land without
California sunshine!
The whole mob relaxed and carts brought around hot
\
HEDDA
HOPPER'S
SECRET
MEMOIRS
tea and cakes. I was sipping mine when the assistant director came up to Griffith.
"How about Jesus?" he asked. "He's been hanging up there over three hours now.
Think we'd better let him down for some tea?"
Griffith nodded. "Lower Jesus!" he yelled into his megaphone. They lowered
Jesus on a rope. I had tea with Jesus and also my first Hollywood interview. I
remember I asked him how he liked his job and he said, "It's a heck of a way to
make a living." He said his arms' hurt, and he had a lousy sunburn. Pretty soon
they hauled him up again on the cross.
When I went home that evening I passed him again, standing on the corner alone
in the fog with his beard and make-up kit. He was thumbing a ride up Sunset
toward Hollywood. A shiny Packard rolled by without even slowing down. It had
a special built trailer cage behind, padded and polished. Inside, the lions, whose
roars still rang in my ears, rode home in pampered luxury, while the Lord's Son
begged a lift on the highway. In Hollywood, I soon found out that was perfectly
proper. You see, the lions were worth a thousand dollars a day and Jesus — well —
he got five bucks. He was just ah extra!
That was my first sample of Hollywood and today it remains my number one
recollection. When I got home that night, my little brain whirling, I said right
out loud, "This Hollywood is a crazy town!" That's an opinion I've never had
reason to change.
Maybe it's the climate, maybe it's the people — anyway, there's something about
Hollywood that makes everything different. There's magic in the air of this glamour-
gilded orange grove — there always' was, there
is today and, I suspect, there always will be.
The most preposterous, fantastic things hap-
pen to people when they come here. They
get rich, they get famous, they get — well — a
little screwy. They act like Fatty Arbuckle
did when he had an automobile built almost
a block long, so big he couldn't park the
darned thing and couldn't use it! It makes
people like the late, lovable Charley Ray
doll up their bathrooms with solid gold
plumbing fixtures. It made Cecil B. DeMille,
before he got older and wiser, throw Roman
feasts with bowls of real jewels sitting
around for his fair guests to help them-
selves! It made Mabel Normand literally
good time herself to death, as it made Bar-
bara LaMarr and Renee Adoree do too, and
Wally Reid, poor Wally, the big weak, won-
derful kid who couldn't stand the pace. It's
cracked to pieces marriages made in Heaven,
as it cracked Doug Fairbanks and Mary
Pickford's and it's cemented the most pre-
posterous unions, like Clara Bow, the Flat-
bush Flapper, and cowboy Rex Bell, which
have flourished in the best story book style.
It's made saints out of sinners and vice versa; turned commoners into kings,
made boors of bluebloods, and sophisticates out of hicks. Not magic? — well you
dig me a better word!
Take Gary Cooper. Sometimes today when I look at that big lug, tailored like
a London bandbox, balancing a cocktail at a swanky Hollywood party, I want to
56
neigh like a broncho and yell, "Yippeee!" just to see him jump. I never do
because I like him too much but I know that's just what he'd do because at heart
Gary's the same Western hillbilly he always was. But outside, what a difference
a few Hollywood years make!
You want to know the first time I ever saw Gary Cooper? It was, I'm sure, at
the most miserable moment of his life, very
similar to the agony a colt goes through
when he's broken to saddle. I can tell it
without making Coop mad, I know, because
just the other day at a bond rally he bid
$100,000 in war bonds for one of my
favorite hats (I sure hated , to lose it, but
anything for the war effort) and after it
was over he grinned sheepishly as only
Gary can grin and said, "Say — you remem-
ber that old picture we made together?"
"How could I forget it?" I answered.
"Want to talk about it?"
He looked like he'd been shot. "Hey,"
he said, "no, no — gosh no!" And I swear
sweat popped out on his face like tapioca.
The picture was "Children of Divorce"
and the gal who started Gary on his way
to fame and fortune was Clara Bow. Me,
I was hanging around as I did in those
days strictly for an actor's check and play-
ing— as I always seemed to — a snooty Park
Avenue rich-witch. But that's not impor-
tant. Except that it tossed me right into the
first scene which was Gary's Gethsemane
and his Open Sesame at the same time. He
was pretty fresh off a Montana Ranch then
with sheep dip and corral cologne wafting out, of every pore and alfalfa sticking
out of his hair. He'd come to Hollywood hearing a cowpoke could pick up easy-
money, and he'd peddled his western paintings from door to door to help out
on the rent of his furnished room. He'd got himself a break in a couple of Para-
mount horse operas looking strong and silent, which was easy. Then came
"Children of Divorce," which was not.
I don't know whose idea it was, maybe Frank Lloyd's, the director who's spied
star stuff in more than one unknown, maybe Clara's, who was a lot smarter than
people gave her credit for. Anyway, after that first scene it looked like somebody
made a terrible mistake.
They had him dolled up in a cutaway morning coat, striped trousers and spats.
They had his hair slicked down and his big Adam's apple clamped in a high wing
collar and still he looked exactly like what he was— a big, beautiful rube. But
that wasn't half. The scene was a gathering of smart young merrily-we-go-to-hell
Manhattan sophisticates at a cocktail party. Gary was supposed to sip champagne,
smoke cigarettes daintily and be debonair and charming. And— this is the pay off-
make love to Clara Bow. ?;
I can hear Clara giggling now. She spied the apparition. "Look, Hedda,' she
said. "Look at the poor boy. He's falling over his own feet!" Gary was, too. You
could tell he'd hand over his check willingly jus}: to be out of those fancy duds,
just- to get the heck out of there and back to Montana {Continued on page 113)
Hedy Lamarr
Greta Garbo
Inqrid Bergman
IfMtM^ — (Surprised to see Columnist Ed Sullivan s by-line on
my beauty pages this month? Well, let me explain. As
a special feature for Modern Screen's wonderful anni-
versary issue, I asked Van Johnson, Humphrey Bogart,
Ray Milland, Joe Gotten and Errol Flynn to make up
their own individual lists of the ten most beautiful stars
of the past fifteen years in Hollywood. They did — and for a look at their
individual scores, 'turn to page 99. But there were a lot of ties, and I
wanted one list of Hollywood's ten loveliest. So I called in Ed Sullivan —
to break the' ties and just talk about beautiful women, as only he can.
What are we waiting for? — Carol Carter )
Being no chump, and with a full awareness that Hollywood scripts insist
that movie heroes must win, I pick no quarrel with Van Johnson, or
Bogart, or Errol Flynn, or Ray Milland or Joe Cotten. However, when
these five characters, having been asked to name to an attentive world
the Ten Most Beautiful femmes ever to float past their vision, fail even
to nod in the beautiful direction of Merle Oberon or Ilona Massey, fail
to remember Jean Harlow or Luise Rainer, completely ignore Lena
Home, Irene Dunne and Alice Faye, overlook Ginger Rogers, Wendy
Hiller, Arleen Whelan, Gene Tierney and Virginia Fields — well, at that
precise point, your correspondent remembers (Continued on page 98)
58
Virginia Bruce
• ••••It
Our dream -guy jury picks
the ten top beauties of fifteen Wwood
years. »© you agree?
Morlene Dietrich
m
Joan Crawford
Dolores Del Rio
Loreita Young
Olivia De Havilland
Danielle Darrieux
ft v
A great writer tells the
life story of "just a guy" who's
learning to laugh again.
CLARK GAB 1.1:
• A- - '
- ,
■ We sat round the fire after
a dinner party. Among us
was a young and very excited
actor. That day he had been
cast in a Clark Gable picture.
■ - He was a sweet boy, well-
mannered, charming. All evening he had tried
to hold his excitement down. Now we encour-
aged him to let it boil over —
"The guy's a legend already," he said. "You
hear so many stories. I wonder what he's
really like — "
I knew Gable as you know many people who
work on the same lot. To smile, to say good
morning, to exchange a few words about the
weather, a preview, a mutual acquaintance. I
had no intimacy with him. We had never sat
down together to take the world apart —
Yet, as a writer, I am trained to observe. I
had observed Gable, on the screen and off. I
had observed the reactions of others to him.
To such a man, you cannot be indifferent
even if you've never met him, even if you
know him only from the films. You may like
or refuse to like "him, ( Continued on page 63 )
At just 7 months, Clark was semi-orphaned with the passing . of his
young mother. In later years, he and Carole were always "Pappy" and
"Ma" to 'each other and planned on eventually adopting a family.
No effort was spared to salvage the marriage, but his need of the soil
he now tends on his Encino ranch couldn't jibe with Rhea's social back-
ground. Ttiey divorced. (With Rhea and Rer children, Jana,- Al.).
60
by VICKI B All Ml
In 1932 "Red Dust" and the late Jean Harlow established him as 1 the neavy
lover with the light touch." He had married (and briefly separated from)
fhe older, social Rhea Lanaham but knew even then that it couldn t last.
At 15, he'd shot up to his 6' I", had developed some of
his charm, most of his dislike for "Sunday bests." He'd
also adopted, then rejected, medicine as
a career.
1934 found him-an "Oscar" winner for "It Happened One
Niaht" and very much in love with Carole. Now,. II
years later, he dates Dvorak, V. Grey, Kay Williams.
Clark Gable, the "people's choice' to play
"G W T W 's" "Rhett Butler, dazzled even the
incorrigible Vivien "Scarlett" Leigh with his dash.
but you cannot say he doesn't matter, he's of no
consequence. Whatever feeling he leaves with
you is a positive feeling. Mine was very
positive . . .
"I could wish nothing better for my boys,"
I said, "than that they should grow up to be
like Clark Gable—"
"You mean movie stars like Clark Gable?"
somebody teased.
But I was in earnest. "I mean men like
Clark Gable. The rest is nothing—"
That was ten years ago. Much has happened
to Gable meantime. Great wealth and fame.
Great happiness. Great sorrow. In public
affection, he has ranked higher over a longer
period than any other star. In his personal
life, he found love, and lost. He entered the
service of his country and served her well.
Now, more popular {Continued on page 64)
With Carole came peace. She was his wife and his
friend and the greatest testimonial to her wisdom is
that her death left him saddened but unembittered.
He worked hard to prepare for OCS and regretted
neither his annual $250,000 salary nor the $7,500,-
000 in receipts his enlistment cost M-G-M per year.
63
CLARK GAIJI.K
Busy with "Strange Adventure" and the renewing of old ties, .he
vetoed offer to MC Lux Radio Show to concentrate on M-G-M's G1
rehabilitation film planned for him, Taylor, Stewart. (GinnyS.atCBS.)
than ever, he returns to the films.
I have followed him through the years, and my feeling
about him remains unchanged. It is the man who counts,
the rest is nothing. As a farmer, a tool-dresser, a lumber-
jack, he would still have been Gable. This is no story
of a movie star, but the story of an American.
First there was the child in a little Ohio town. A child
of Pennsylvania Dutch stock, who inherited their strain
of simplicity and strength. When his mother died, the
baby was seven months old. His father — like Clark, a
man of few words, especially where his emotions are
concerned — took the child to the farm of his dead wife's
parents. There he stayed till he was four.
They had no close neighbors. The barnyard animals
were his playmates, the changing aspects of nature his
wonderland. With his father's visits, the tales of his
grandfather, his grandmother's tenderness, it was enough.
They were none of them the (Continued on page 103)
Acting as gunner and combat photographer, he was upped
from pvt. to Capt. during his 22 months AAF career and
returned with 50,000 feet of film shot in 5 raids — plus Air Medal!
HER RING — a 2-corat,
emerald-cut diamond in
a platinum setting
AIRLINE HOSTESS is airman's 6ancee! Mary Ann
Long helps servicemen and their families feel "at
home" in PCA planes. She works in one of the war
jobs where women are so badly needed. Ask your
local U. S. Employment Service about your war job.
The day that Mary Ann pinned his
wings on her officer-fiance— he slipped a
diamond engagement ring on her slen-
der finger.
She is another lovely girl with an en-
gaging soft-smooth Pond's complexion.
Mary Ann says of Pond's Cold Cream
—"It's perfect, I think! I don't know
anything that makes my face look and
feel so clean and fresh and soft-to-touch."
This is the way she uses Pond's:
She smooths snow-white Pond's Cold
Cream over face and throat. Pats briskly
to soften and release dirt and make-up.
Tissues off.
She rinses with another Pond's coating
—swirling her fingertips quickly over
her face. These tivo creamings make her
skin feel extra clean, extra soft.
Copy Mary Ann's twice-over way of using
Pond's Cold Cream— every night, every morn-
ing, and for in-between clean-ups.
Ask for a luxurious big jar— you'll love
the quick way you can dip fingers of both
hands in this wide-topped, big Pond's jar!
Popular Tennessee girl, the daughter of
the H. C. Longs, engaged to
Richard H. Albrecht. She is a graduate
of Virginia Intermount College
and was May Queen
in her *°>rior year. He was at Yale
before entering the Air Force
^ a/fa &ond<£K&fy%eaam. . 5%z tfufyJOmti, J^.McmJ.^fm,
65
new! Film-Finish Powder
Finest-ever texture ... loveliest-ever shades
for that Hollywood "finish"
66
It's a charmer, a four-alarmer . . .
this new Woodbury Powder! Made to
give you the breathless appeal screen
stars have. 5-stage blending for love-
lier shades, smoothest - ever texture.
Woodbury Film-Finish won't clog,
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skin look "porey". Just clings like a
lovely dream, to help you charm your
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SUSAN PETERS, lovely young star of Metro - Goldwyn -
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RACHEL is golden drama for a honey-toned medium skin like Susan's.
YOUR MATCHED MAKE-UP $1. Now with your $1
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box... all Woodbury Powder is the new"Film-Finish".
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11
Woo
dourv FiniTh Fowder
Modern Screen's Birthday Quiz
HI, swell meeting you! Here are 14
portraits of your favorite stars as they^ ap-
peared last week— and 15 years ago. It's up
to you to unscramble 'em so that their 1930
pics (which are marked a, b, c, etc.) match
up with their 1945 pictures (designated by
numbers.) Page 84 has the answers.
CHEN YU
MAKE UP
Out of a dream world into yours comes a veil
of cloud silk to cover your skin with a new kind of
beauty as rare as Chinese silk . . . with no hint
to the heaviness of make-up as you have
known it. So smooth ... so perfect . . . Cloud silk
dresses your skin in a glowing radiance that belies
the presence of blemish. When you wear it ... no matter
whether it be day or night ... in the sun's
brilliance or in the darting beams of firelight . . . others
see you through a veil of sheer beauty ...and they
wonder why! And Cloud silk (because it's Chen Yu)
stays beautiful so long, time stands still.
Cloud silk, newest triumph of Chen Yu, is the
completely beautifying, thoroughly protective
make-up you have hoped for. You'll find it now at your
favorite store in a shade that is exactly yours.
CHEN YU, Chicago and New York
Modern
By Jean Kinkead
and Toussia Pines
No fuss, no satin, no nonsense in this little plaid beauty by
that master, Henry Rosenfeld. Washable gingham, spiked
with black ruffles to give you the look of a Victorian belle!
Super lines in this make-it-yourself housecoat — a MODERN SCREEN
pattern, easy-as-pie to make! It changes personality with various
materials, so make two — a flowered lovely, and a smoothie of solid black.
We think you're
lucky! Just look at the
glamor-garb of fifteen
years ago, and thank your
lucky stars for the
clothes of 1945!
Screen's Fashion Guide
Which onp -gets your vole? We knew it— the sleek, smooth Junior Formols
honey on Glorio De Haven! And glamor isn't all it's got, ,t s washable,
practical inexpensive! Sophisticated black velvet accessor.es by Arpad.
■ We were chortling through one of the
first Modern Screens, and look what
we found! These fashions, chums, were
the MacStuff in 1930, and the gals-
modeling them were (and still are)
among" the best-dressed women in the
country. Notice the impractical fabrics, the messy
lines, the complete lack of figure flattery. And don't
miss the utter disregard for grooming as we now
know it. The sporty hat on Joan Crawford, for instance,
with the swish afternoon dress, the hit or miss coiffures
on Joan and Connie Bennett, and the just-out-from-the
dryer look to Norma's. Gosh, we've come a long way,
when you think that today's stenographers and riveters
and housewives look infinitely more chic, more fashion-
wise than yesterday's golden girls. And when you think
that they look so darn beautiful on so darn little.
Let's do some contrasting. Take the evening dresses
of then and now. The cut of the 1930 number gives
smooth Connie Bennett the figure of a Mickey Rooney.
In addition, the fabric (beaded white chiffon) couldn't
possibly be less practical, involving an expensive trek
to the cleaners after each wearing. The accessories-
bracelet, watch and choker— {Continued on page 72)
71
Brunettes take notice: Famous painter
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1
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lere's the right Cashmere
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'OR LIGHT TYPES
[atural, Rachel Nos. 1 and 2
OR MEDIVM TYRES
achel No. 2, Rose Brunette
[or dark types
Rose Brunette, Even Tan
YOU with the dark hair, give your skin a pink-pearl
accent with Cashmere Bouquet's new "Flower-fresh"
Rose Brunette. This is what you've been waiting
for . . . dreaming about . . . this rosy radiance
in a face powder that goes on like sifted star-
dust to help veil tiny blemishes. And it clings for
hours and hours. Cashmere Bouquet's exotic
"Flower-fresh" shades are keyed to all skin types
from an angel-faced blonde to a sultry red-head.
neither match nor complement each other.
Now just look at our 1945 honey at ap-
proximately one-fifth the cost. Crisp and'
slim as a celery stalk, this Junior Formal]
is It for the senior prom, for a club
dance, for a candlelight dinner with Him.
Everything about it is new — the not-too-
dolman sleeves, the doll waist (straight,
from Paris, kids) accented with a black
velvet bow, the full waltz skirt. The wee
surplice top is red and white checked, the
skirt is black and white. Whip off the
belt and the dress takes to water like a
newly launched PT boat 'cause it's a Dan
River Starspun cotton. All this for under
$18, if you can stand it. We are mad for*
the matched accessories by Arpad, aren't
you? The sophisticated gloves — the hair-
bow in black velvet — are irresistible.
As for afternoon dresses. Ornateness
was the keynote for 1930 dress-up clothes,
as witness the beribboned Peter Pan
collar, embroidered bolero and multi-
buttoned cuffs on Joan's dress. - Lushness
of material was likewise the ticket, and
satin, lace, velvet and chiffon were In.
The age of elegance is very dead, praise
the Lord, and today fashions for gallivant-
ing are light-hearted, casual, beautifully
simple; A gander at the sweet Henry
Rosenfeld plaid on Gloria deHaven and
you'll see what we mean. From the senti-
mental sweetheart neckline to the brand
new flaring skirt, it's young and wide-
eyed, but there's a whiff of sophistication
in the black ruffle at the neck, sleeves and
hem. It's a dress that's up to tea at the
Ritz, still isn't too spiffy for the office.
It'll do you proud at a sidewalk cafe, on a
station platform. It's wearable, washable,
lovable, and it comes in cool water-ice
colors. Price: About $11. Complete the
pretty, pretty picture with black acces-
sories— gloves and headband.
Our precious, indispensable housecoat
wasn't born fifteen years ago. You either
slipped on something wan and shapeless
called a "wrapper," or you poured your-
self into a gadget on the order of the
negligee Norma Shearer's wearing. On
the one hand you were comfortable but
repulsive, and on the other you were not
too smooth and virtually straitjacketed.
Look at the good, clean lines of our
make-it-yourself housecoat; fall in love
with the gay print in .tubbable cotton, and
be that grateful that it's '45 instead of '30.
A breeze to make is this long-torsoed baby
with its scooped out neckline and low-
placed fullness, and it changes its person-
ality with your choice of fabric. For star-
hung evenings on that second honeymoon,
you might have it in something white and
bridey. For rustling chow for a hungry
brood of a summer morning, we'd choose
a splashy print. You could do it in crisp
pique, in cool black linen — just name your
pet fabric and get to work. You know the
WPB has limited the manufacture of
housecoats to conserve material, so it's a
wise child who sews her own. Look, below
for how-to-get-it.
* * *
Yowr letters keep coming and coming,
and we keep getting thrilled about them.
Itfs still open house here at our office, so
if you've a query, dearie, let's have it.
Want to know what stores carry these
fashions? What sizes and colors they come
m? Anything a-tall? Just ask us, we've
got all the answers. Know where to write?
Fashion Adviser, Modern Screen, 149 Madi-
son Avenue, New York 16, N. Y.
To order Modern Screen pattern
1597, send 16c to Modern Screen Pat-
tern Service, P.O. Box 224, Sta. G,
N. Y. 19, N. Y. Indicate size, re-
quest pattern number 1597, and
write your name and address clearly.
INFORMATION »KSK
(Questions of the Month)
By Beverly Linet
Hi:
Your "into desk" is feeling ancient
this month. Think! 15 years have
passed since my Mom came home
with her first copy of MODERN
SCREEN — and gave me a lickin'
'cause I cut out the pics when she
wasn't looking. . . . But now that I'm
through looking for grey hairs and
celebrating with three super-deluxe
ice cream sodas, I think I'd better get
down to the business at hand. Having
practically grown up with MODERN
SCREEN, is it any wonder that I've'
accumulated loads and loads of data
on your favorites? And, heck, why
should I be selfish with it? But I do
have two requests: Be considerate
with the amount of questions asked,
so the next one can have a
chance on a prompt answer; and
please, REMEMBER THE SELF-
ADDRESSED, STAMPED EN-
VELOPE, sent to Beverly Linet,
Information Desk, MODERN
SCREEN, 149 Madison Avenue,
New York 16, N. Y. Fair nut?
Love, Bev.
Al Barbato: MAY I HAVE THE
MUSIC FROM "A SONG TO RE-
MEMBER," AND IS THE MUSIC
PLAYED THROUGHOUT? . . . As a
rule, background music is just inci-
dental in 99 out of 100 movies and
definitely unavailable. But the "S.
to R." score was by Chopin and there-
fore attainable. Here it is:
WALTZ IN D FLAT (MINUTE WALTZ)
— played in part by Chopin as a child.
MAZURKA IN B FLAT — during talk be-
tween papa Chopin and Prof. Eisner.
FANTASIE IMPROMPTU and ETUDE
IN A FLAT — tor recital in Wodztnski man-
- si on. „ .
POLONAISE IN A FLAT (in part) — by
Liszt and Chopin in Pleyel's office.
B FLAT SCHERZO — in darkened salon
of Duchess of Orleans.
ETUDE IN E MAJOR — played for
Madame Sand at Nohant.
NOCTURNE IN E FLAT — played by
Chopin at Nohant while Sand is writing.
BERCEUSE — played while Eisner visits
Nohant, ignored by Chopin.
WALTZ IN C SHARP MINOR — second
recital, at home of Duchess of Orleans.
ETUDE IN A MINOR, BALLADE IN A
FLAT — WALTZ IN A FLAT (opus 42 and
34). THE REVOLUTIONARY ETUDE,
THE SCHERZO IN B FLAT MINOR, and
POLONAISE IN A FLAT — in musical
montage for Chopin's last tour.
NOCTURNE IN A MINOR — background
music for finale.
Barbara Drake, Texas: MAY I
HAVE THE ADDRESS OF A FAN
CLUB FOR DON TAYLOR, WHO
WAS "PINKY" IN "WINGED VIC-
TORY?" . . . Don is very enthusiastic
about his fan club headed by Adele
Schneider, 1280 b, Sheridan Ave.,
Bronx, N. Y. Dues are 75c and you
get loads of privileges, so why not
join?
Arlene Landis: MAY I HAVE
BIRTHDATE, PLACE, REAL
NAME OF GUY MADISON? . . .
Guy's real name is Robert Ozell
Moseley, and he was bom in Bakers-
ville, Cal., Jan. 19, 1922.
James Miller, New Guinea: WHO
WAS "PIERRE" IN "FRENCH-
MAN'S CREEK?" . . . That was 32-
year-old dancer Billy Daniels. Write
him at Paramount Pictures, Holly-
wood, Calif.
' to
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LOUELLA PARSONS' GOOD
Congrats Al and
Henry — the Haymes'
stay the Haymes9
— Ladd '«* Bendix
make up
\:Jl
Bing Oscared for "Going My Way." Brings
3 sandwiches, 2 thermos of coffee to broadcasts,
munches in dressing room, then home for re-fills.
74
Barry Fitzgerald requested a part in "Stork
Club" because Betty Hutton's in it: She makes
him feel SO young! (With Bing and Inqrid.)
NEWS
the
■ It's anniversary month on MOD-
ERN SCREEN and, like all you
readers, I want to extend my con-
gratulations to everybody in the
official editorial family. No, I haven't
been a member of the clan for the
full fifteen years — but I have been
best year — and I say that in all
on hand for
modesty.
Last year was MODERN SCREEN'S finest and fattest
in all departments from the editorial to the circulation.
Unlike that famous little "Topsy" we all know, the book
hasn't "just growed," either.
There's a nice spirit of "folksiness" with this gang
that is not only reflected in the intimate stories and
interviews but even comes along to us scribes when
we get our checks every month. It's nice to get a
check— any check— but its also very, very nice to get
a letter along with it, from Ye Ed, Al Delacorte, saying
that he liked the last batch of material and that I am a
good girl. We all like a pat on the back— me,
particularly.
But the nice part of my association with MODERN
SCREEN is that I've met Al and pretty little Sylvia
Wallace (the West Coast honey — and is she a honey!)
and we aren't just the usual editorial and scribe brand
of friends.
When Al was out on the Coast recently he developed
a nice little habit of dropping by in the morning to have
coffee with me. We would talk for an hour or so about
what was going on in Hollywood, what was making
Van Johnson tick, whether Lana Turner and Turhan
Bey were really in love and if Judy Garland wasn't just
a little too thin?
Al surprised me, one morning, by saying that he was
planning to hitchhike his way back to New York.
I couldn't get over it. For a young, successful and pros-
perous editor to even think of thumbing his way 3000
miles was something I'd never heard of.
"What ever made you think of such a thing?" I
asked him.
"It's swell," he enthused. "You really get to know
people and talk to them and get their honest reactions
to everything from politics to movie stars. My wife and
I hitchhiked on our honeymoon and it was a lot of
fun. It's also good business to talk to the paying
customer of the magazine first hand."
What Al didn't tell me is that these "hitchhiking"
jaunts cost him more money than the swankiest train
reservations, for he has a quiet habit of footing all the
food and hotel and motel bills for whoever happens
to give him a "lift." (Continued on page 76)
Laddie, whose lobby pics at N. Y. Paramount Theater are almost
covered with bobby-sox' lip-sticky kisses, will star with Veronico L.
in
CltSU Willi uuuwf ov« i.(^ / , -----
The Blue Dahlia." (With Sue to see the Awards dished out. I
Jeanne dreaded roller coaster scenes for "State Fair but only got
her knees skinned; almost had her hair clipped cause it hid that lovely
face Family frowns on marrying P. Brooks— too young! (That s Paul. I
Fluent in French, Shirl's larnin' Spanish for foreign "Kiss and TelL'
Pin-up gal of 782nd Artillery, she won't pose "leg-art" pics: "I
don't think I'm the uncover type of girl." (With Guy Madison.)
75
air Hons llasie Blaek
In Plastic With DuPont Sponge
Solitair dons basic black in a compact as slim and
smart as your beloved basic black dress.
Inside this new, larger compact (with its own applicator
sponge) is a full 2l/A ounces of Solitair, that lanolin-rich cake
cosmetic you depend on for a velvety
skin, a fresh and truly natural-
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\'ew Deluxe Plastic compact with
DuPont sponge and handy carton
for both. All for only $1. Solitair
also comes in 60 and 25 cjnt sizes.
CAKE MAKE-UP WITH LANOLI2V
I- haven't met Henry Malmgreen, as I have
Al and Sylvia, face to face — but that's a little
matter I intend to fix up the next time I go
to New York. However, I have had some
grand letters irom him and if he is as nice
as he writes, he's a boy I want to meet — and
soon!
Ge.tting to know people through the mail
is a very nice thing. I've learned that from
all you readers who've written to me since
I have been doing "Good News" for the
magazine, and I deeply value the ideas you
give me about your favorite stars and just
what you want to hear from Hollywood.
And now while we are still passing out the
anniversary bouquets, let me say that Al isn't
the only Delacorte in the magazine who gets
a special bouquet from me. He has a mighty
nice father . who has a special place in my
esteem. He was the first publisher to buy a
series of articles from my pride and joy,
Harriet Parsons, when she was just starting
out in Hollywood. And look at her now. She's
the lady producer of "The Enchanted Cottage."
So I say — good luck and many more happy
years to everyone on MODERN SCREEN — and
now, how about q little GOOD NEWS from
Hollywood?
* * *
Judy Garland isn't a superstitious girl. Her
engagement ring from Vincente Minnelli is a
huge pink pearl set in gold and black enamel
and the matching wedding ring is also black
enamel edged in tiny pink seed pearls.
Somebody said that she would be a little
bit afraid of wedding rings set in black— but
she hadn't seen Judy's two new rings. Take
my word for it, they are stunning and very
far off the usual pattern of romantic sparklers.
Minnelli, who is very much in love, says he
wanted Judy to have something "different."
Well, she has!
* * *
Ran into the Robert Youngs the other day
and they told me I had certainly created havoc
in their household announcing on the air that
they were expecting their fourth child.
Seems that Bob and Mrs. Y. had thought the
news was a great big secret. Suddenly, their
middle daughter, Barbara Queen (and one of
the cutest little girls in Hollywood), burst into
the living room shouting, "Mother! Daddy! We
are going to have another baby at our house!"
"How do you know?" Betty and Bob asked.
"Aunt Louella just said so on the radio,"
gasped Barbara Queen, "aren't you GLAD to
know about the baby?"
Ma and Pa Young admitted that they were
really quite pleased — and so glad to get it
straight from headquarters!
* * *
Sometimes I feel like spanking Errol Flynn
and I get thoroughly out of patience with him.
He should have stated in the beginning that
he was married to Nora Eddington and stopped
all that shillyshallying around with the New
York press that landed him in more Dutch —
if possible — than usual.
I met Errol at the Charlie Morrisons' party
after he returned to Hollywood and, without
any fuss or bother, he admitted to me that he
and Nora were married — but still said it was
nobody's business.
But how he raved about their baby daugh-
ter. "She's the cutest little baby I've ever
seen." he said just like a proud parent, "with
dimples and everything. I've always thought
little babies were raw looking— but she was
all pink and white and a glamour girl from
the moment she was born."
Errol can be so charming — when he wants
to. Wonder if the baby will have his trick of
turning on the same brand of Irish charm when
she grows up?
* * *
Farley Granger, now in the South Paoific.
writes lune Haver a letter every day. Recently
he wrote (and I think it will interest all you
girls who are wondering whether to tell THE
boy friend, in service, about the innocent
dates you are having):
"Please tell me where you go and whom you
go with. I'd much rather have you tell me
about the fellows you meet and go out with
than not to mention them at all. I've always
flattered myself that I could tell by the way
a girl talks about a man whether she is
really interested in him, — or whether he's
just another date along her social life."
So, girls, I guess you had better "give" —
but don't get too enthusiastic unless you
mean it!
* * *
Don't say I' told you — but Shirley Temple
has a definite crush on Van Johnson whom she's
never met. As she told one reporter, "I go
for him. But definitely!"
* * *
Rambling" Opinions:
Jennifer Jones should never wear her hair
in an "upswept" hair-do as she did at the
Academy Awards. It ain't becoming.
Bob Hope can never kid anybody again with
his Bing Crosby ribs. Bob's voice actually
shook with emotion when Bing won the Oscar.
I wish Barbara Stanwyck were a little more
gracious. I suppose it is shyness and self-
consciousness that makes her seem a little
SWIMMIN' IS SLIMMIN'
I'll bet you think the Red Cross
is so busy thinking about soldiers,
sailors and Marines, that there
couldn't possibly be any time to
worry about just plain you. But
golly, they seem to do everything!
For example, right now your Red
Cross is mighty excited about swim-
ming courses for you weary Nurse's
Aides, bandage wrappers, and, well,
anyone who's interested in fun
trWs beautifying. Just snap your-
self a few pert questions: Posture
perfect? Complexion clear? Figure
a la Grable? Uh, huh! Not quite!
Then splash right into a lime-fresh
pool and swim yourself up a great
big "yes" to every one of those
queries. Honestly, there's scarcely
a beauty problem that can't be
solved by plenty of cooling practice
of the popular crawl, breast-stroke,
or back-stroke. Have you ever seen
a swimming champ . with slumpy
shoulders, protruding tummy, hips-
to-be-hidden? No, indeed! So dash
right off to that Red Cross Chapter
around the corner and get all of the
details on swimming courses. Re-
member, the healthy are the helpful,
so here's a perfect way to do your
bit.
Plenty of iron in these baby cereals . . .
for a very good reason!
Baby is born with a supply of iron gathered during the prenatal period.
Doctors find that this supply of precious iron in many babies may be low
three months, or more, after birth. That is why Gerber nutritionists have
added to Gerber's Cereal Food and Gerber's Strained Oatmeal generous
amounts of iron along with Vitamin Bj-so helpful to baby's well-being.
Feed your baby both Gerber's cereals, turnabout - for variety helps baby
eat better. Remember, too, it is always wise to check your baby's feeding
program with your doctor.
These two Gerber's cereals are recommended by doctors for
their well-balanced, nourishing value. Each ounce exceeds
the National Research Council's recommended allow-
ance for infants in both Thiamine (Vitamin Bx) and Iron.
Gei**r5
erber's
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FREMONT, MICH
OAKLAND, CAl
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Address: Gerber Products Co., Dept. DE6-5, Fremont, Michigan
Name.
My baby is now months
old: please send me samples of
Gerber's Cereal Food and
Gerber's Strained Oatmeal.
Address <*» and S""e
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abrupt and unbending, particularly when she
meets people for the first time.
Why will certain Hollywood actors keep on
denying stories that they are "engaged" to
certain ladies? Don't they know that the lady
involved should always make any necessary
comments? At least, that is the way it is in my
Emily Post book.
June Allyson is one of the most difficult of
all players to interview. It is hard for June
to talk about anything that is close to her —
and the other kind of material doesn't matter
to writers.
You would be surprised to know the identity
of the top notch actor who, a leading exhibitor
of the country recently told me, "is poison at the
box office." And would he be surprised — for
this gent thinks very well of himself!
Mickey Rooney writes very cute letters from
France — but wonder why he is so formal and
calls me "Miss Parsons." When he was
twelve or thirteen he used to call me
"Toots!"
Frank Sinatra isn't the only headliner to
take up the juvenile delinguency problem in
a big way. Abbott and Costello are also
crusading and have incorporated their move-
ment dealing with our boys and girls who
need moral help.
* ♦ •
What a good guy that Van Johnson is!
He never left the bedside of his pal, Keenan
Wynn, until Ed Wynn (Keenan's father) ar-
rived here by plane from New York. Van
is plenty jittery about the two accidents — one
which almost cost his life two years ago in
an automobile crash, and the recent motor-
cycle disaster that happened to Keenan.
"I've never been superstitious," he told me,
"and I think the best way to get over jittery
nerves is to get right back in a car and drive
it again. But it seems like a jinx that we
should both crack up. If you see anybody
driving a car about ten miles an hour and
hugging the curb, you'll know it's ME."
* * *
The Dick Haymes separated and then made
up before anybody could say "scat." But I
never heard a more ridiculous reason for a
rift. Dick said, "I guess prosperity and success
came between us." Now I ask you!
When a couple have two small children to
educate and care for — how can a little pros-
perity and success come between them? It is
wonderful to know that you can care for
children properly and secure their future and
that's what most of us work for in life.
Well, they are now reconciled — or are at
this writing. I hear the inside on the separa-
tion is that Mrs. Haymes also wanted a career
and Dick didn't approve.
* * •
Whatever caused the tiff between them at
one time, I'm glad to say that Alan Ladd and
his old crony. Bill Bendix, have made up. I
can't believe any of the silly stories I've heard
about why they were on the outs for awhile —
much less the one that it had its basis in
publicity. Alan's the romantic type and nat-
urally would rate more space and attention
from the maids and matrons.
Bill, on the other hand, is a lovable mug
getting a huge salary and is tops in his field
though he rates less "space" than Alan.
But the main thing is that the boys are
friends again and will make another movie
together. "The Blue Dahlia."
• • *
The saddest news of the month is the death
of John Garfield's little six-and-a-half year
old daughter, Katherine. I can hardly write
this item without a catch in my throat, and I
am not trying to hold it back. I know what
plans John and his wife had for the little girl's
future — and her musical education.
They had hoped that she would be either
a writer or a singer. She had a sweet little
voice and showed marked musical talent.
Her nurse had taken the child to. spend the
weekend with her grandparents when sud-
denly she developed a mysterious throat ail-
ment' and complained that her throat was sore.
When the little girl's condition did not improve
within a few hours, she was taken home
where she died within a few minutes.
No one knows — except those who have lost
a child — the heartache and heartbreak that
has come to the Gar fields.
• * *
Susan Hayward was still "out" after the
birth of her twins when they aroused her to tell
her that the boys must be fingerprinted.
"Fingerprinted?" gasped Susan, "what have
they done? They're so little!"
• • - *
Anita Colby, affectionately called "The
Face," came back from Tucson before she was
entirely well from pneumonia. On the day
she returned, Pat Smart, who lives with Anita,
gave a cocktail party. La Colby, wearing the
frilliest of negligees and propped up in bed,
received guests at her bedside. Clark Gable,
Errol Flynn and the young Bob Huttons were
among those who visited. Anita, I must say,
looked as pretty as a picture with the blue
frills and matching bows in her hair.
$ , * #
There was a lot of spirited bidding for the
various dolls at the "Diamonds and Dolls"
cocktail party. Four thousand dollars was
realized for the fund which gives the wounded
boys a chance to telephone home.
Claudette Colbert was very cute when she
kept bidding against Mervyn Le Roy for the
I SAW IT HAPPEN
A friend of mine
who operates a
beauty shop on
Broadway knew
Lauren Bacall
when. ... It seems
that every time the
siren of "To Have
and Have Not" came
into the shop to
have her hair done,
' she would sigh in
that deep, mysterious voice of hers,
"Oh, Angie, can't you do something
with my hair?" Lauren's hair, worn
in a simple, natural style, just never
would stay in place.
Last week, Angie chuckled to her-
self when a young girl entered her
shop to exclaim, "Oh, won't you please
make my hair like Lauren Bacall's!"
Elaine Burten
New York, N. Y.
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79
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Vivien Leigh doll. She kept boosting the price
so that Merv paid plenty for the little "Scarlett
O'Hara."
Lady Mendl's fan, which once belonged to
the Empress of Austria, brought $600. The
Gary Coopers bid on this — and lost it.
I must say Paulette Goddard looked very
happy at the same event. I met her with
husband Burgess Meredith, and John Patrick,
author of the "Hasty Heart." Paulette was
wearing a sweater trimmed in gold and a
diamond necklace that made the other dolls
look dim!
* * *
Rosalind Russell is blooming again, pink
cheeks n'everything, after her long illness.
Roz's illness is directly traceable to worry over
the Sister Kenny project — for she is head of
the Sister Kenny foundation in Los Angeles.
Every time a sick child was brought to
her she actually suffered until she got the
youngster to Minneapolis. At her own expense
she made an Infantile Paralysis "short," acted
in it, and cut it. Then out of the blue came
a blast at her for not getting to work on the
Sister Kenny movie — the most undeserved and
unfair criticism ever aimed at an actress. It
was RKO that delayed the script — not Roz—
and the criticism sent her to the hospital.
* * *
There has been a lot of speculation about
Turhan Bey and the Turkish Government. The
rumor was hot and heavy that Turhan had
received word to report for military service in
his homeland. I thought the best way to find
out was to ask him — so I did.
He told me, "I can't join the American Army,
Louella, because I would lose my Turkish
citizenship. And I can't return to Turkey until
I am told to do so because of transportation
difficulties."
Everybody is now convinced that Turhan
and Lana Turner will be married in August
if he is still in this country. Of course, the
war may be over by the time you read this —
and il so, just forget we ever mentioned
Turhan and the Turkish government.
80
MONEY? WE GIVE IT AWAY!
Things just don't happen to us!
Here we sit in our MODERN SCREEN
office, slaving away on your favorite
mag, and then you get all the breaks —
always seein' stars. So hbw about let-
ting us in on it, huh? Don't even take
time to put that autograph book under
lock and key; don't even steal a sec-
ond to phone the gang; just make a
dash for the nearest pen and dress
up your story in its best bib and
tucker while your excitement is still
crinkly around the edges. Mail your
account of that moment with a screen
celebrity to: I SAW IT HAPPEN
Editor, MODERN SCREEN, 149 Madi-
son Avenue, New York 16, N. Y.
That'll be almost as good as if it hap-
pened to us. And you know how glad
we'll be? Five dollars glad! That's
what we'll send you for a clearly ex-
pressed, sincere story we can print for
our readers — if it'll make them laugh
or make them cry or tell them some-
thing really new about a star, it s
practically in print already. So get
busy, you stargazers, make your hobby
pay!
THESE ARE THE
UNFORGETTABLES!
(Continued jrom page 5 )
so faithfully and happily in business.
The Greatest Lover? Without a mo-
ment's hesitation, I say— Clark Gable. Ah,
yes, there have been others, romantic
heroes such as John Barry more, Errol
Flynn, Jimmy Stewart, Frankie Sinatra,
John Gilbert— to mention just a few who at
various times have had women at their
But more women have idealized and
idolized Gable, both on and off the screen,
than any other movie actor since Valen-
tino.
great lover ...
And I say he is the greatest lover for
another reason— he has been constant to
the one great love in his own life, Carole
Lombard. Women know this and in real-
izing it, they sense the strength and integ-
rity of Clark's love. It makes them want
to try to win him all the more.
But I don't believe he will ever marry
again. Since Carole's death there have
been times when his name was linked
jvith other women— pretty little Kay Wil-
liams and socialite Dolly O'Brien.
Even when his romance with Kay was
at its height I think he liked her best
for the qualities she has that reminded him
of Carole— the camaraderie, the good fel-
lowship, the humor, the same blonde
loveliness. .
ICI knew such great happiness with Ca-
role," he told me once when we were
talking confidentially, "that I can't hope to
ever find it again. I would be foolish to try
—and selfish to expect it." And so it is
ironical to say— but very true— that the
greatest lover of them all will go through
the rest of his days with a heartache that
can never be cured. And now let's look at
the feminine side of the ledger for a mo-
ment. Who has been
The Most Movie - Starrish - Of - The-
Movie Stars? Mae West? Marlene Diet-
rich? Jean Harlow? Lana Turner? No —
I say Joan Crawford gets the prize for
being the girl who for the longest time
has remained the popular conception of
what a Hollywood star should be.
Joan's private life, her marriage and di-
vorces, her movie-starrish home, the
drama of the adoption of her two children,
her clothes, her interviews, have been as
dramatic as any role she has ever played
on the screen.
From the moment she came to Holly-
wood she was News with a capital N. I
remember, in the early days, when she was
winning dancing cups all over town for
the Charleston, one of her partners (a
charming boy to whom Joan was devoted
—but not engaged) died suddenly after a
brief siege of pneumonia. Sincerely
touched as she was, I remember how Joan
startled Hollywood by appearing in widow's
weeds and a flowing black veil for days
after his funeral.
Long before she became an official star
at M-G-M she was garnering more pub-
licity than the brightest lights on the lot
Once, she rented a house in Beverly Hills
that boasted just one small window on the
entire lower floor. Joan would receive the
press for interviews, her face chalky white
in the single shaft of light that poured in
like a spotlight, sitting like a woman with
a secret sorrow! Yes indeed, the best acts
of all have been put on for a grateful press
by Crawford!
The Most Tragic Actress? To my mind
—it is poor little Lupe Velez. I thought,
Great - great - granddaughter
of a Russian Emperor
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82
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too, of Marie Dressier. But Marie once
said to me, "I have had a glorious life and
career. I am sick now with an incurable
illness and I am old, but I have had every-
thing— love, affection of people I have not
even known, fame, friends. It has been a
wonderful span." And then there was
little Jean Harlow who died too young.
. But neither her fame nor her loves ever
brought any real happiness to Lupe. Before
she was an actress, she was a warm-
hearted woman. She loved men who
weren't worthy of her (with the exception
of Gary Cooper) too deeply. She expected
more than they could give her.
Lupe was a gamin, a flame and a zephyr
— but she drew hurts to herself that she
could not cope with. Not many people
knew how deeply she loved — until she
ended her life by her own hand. No, she
wasn't broke, she wasn't down on her luck.
But she couldn't bear the disgrace of
bringing a baby into the world in her
status of unwedded mother. Nothing
that Hollywood and Broadway had given
her, or could give her, could compensate
Lupe for the one thing she wanted in life
and hadn't found — Love.
The Most Outrageous Actor? No one
before or since has held a candle to the
incomparable Barrymore — John, of course.
There was one of the great wits of our day.
He didn't need any gag writers, either, to
put funny sayings in his mouth. Sometimes
his wit was devastating — but it was always
to the point.
One of the most famous stories about
him concerns his first interview in Holly-
wood as a movie actor. John, idolized by
women, completely spoiled but charming
— had come out from Broadway "to let the
movie cameras take the sags out from
under my eyes" and, after refusing any
number of interview requests, had finally
consented to see a woman reporter on one
of the daily papers (not me!).
He received the lady in bed in his hotel
suite and — since it was early in the morn-
ing— asked her if she would prepare break-
fast for him in the adjoining kitchenette.
"But I don't cook," protested the bewil-
dered scribe.
"You don't cook?" said Barrymore, "how
unfeminine! All women should be com-
pletely feminine — even reporters. If you
can't think of something feminine to do,
I'm afraid I can't give you an interview.
Come, come — you must do something
cozy!
"I can darn a little bit," gasped the un-
happy writer.
"Ah, that is fine," said John, leaping out
of bed. "Here's a pair of socks with holes
in both the toe and heels. You can darn
them and I'll give you the story of your
life!"
And, honest, that's the truth. While the
lady patched his hose, Barrymore gave her
an interview that had Hollywood rocking
for days!
"baby" and boss . . .
The Actor Who Talks Much Too Much
is Humphrey Bogart: Humphrey recently
told Inez Robb, crack Hearst reporter, "Of
course I love Baby and I'm going to marry
her." "Baby" being Lauren Bacall — there
was a big gasp from everyone and plenty
of uplifted eyebrows. Bogie wasn't even
divorced so how could he be engaged to
marry his lovely leading lady of "To Have
And Have Not?"
I received a letter from him shortly after
he gave this startling statement. "I shot
off my big mouth again," he wrote. "1
wish I hadn't. You're not mad at me, are
you?" How could I be mad at bin* — I only
felt sorry for his having put "Baby" in
such an awkward position. He had pre-
viously made me swear I wouldn't print a
word about his mad love for the Bacall
girl until they were free to announce their
engagement. But, as I said in the begin-
ning, Bogey is a guy who shoots oft his
mouth too much— so he gets this Oscar.
The Actor Who Gets In The Most
Trouble is— you guessed it— Errol Flynn.
And believe me, he asks for it. When the
answer is the obvious one to reporters, his
replies are ones that no actor should ever
utter. He could have stated very simply
that he was married to Nora Eddington
and that she had a baby and that he had
been married to her for eighteen months.
But not Flynn. He told the reporters it was
none of their business and denied his
marriage. This brought forth indignation,
meetings of the press, women's clubs and
what not. As a matter of fact, I happen to
know Flynn is very much in love with
Nora and may even bring her back to
Hollywood.
We have to go back a spell in order to
select The Most Extravagant and Queenly
of all the stars who have reigned in Holly-
wood— but Gloria Swanson is the lady. All
other contenders are just plain pikers.
I'll never forget how Gloria, after she
married the Marquis de la Falaise, came
across the country on the train, in a
flower-bedecked private car and the old
Paramount studio was so impressed with
their titled star that they arranged a
parade through the streets from the station
to the studio. Gloria, arrayed in sables and
orchids, rode the distance in an open car —
bowing to the excited crowds like visiting
royalty.
And she lived like royalty. She seldom
appeared anywhere — even on a shopping
tour — without an entourage consisting of
her secretary, liveried chauffeur and usu-
ally her colored hair-dresser, Hattie, who
earned $200 weekly just thinking up la
Swanson's exotic coiffures.
Early in her career, when Gloria electri-
fied the fans by being one of the first
cinema queens to have a baby, she decided
to bring the infant over to the studio for
her co-workers to see. What they saw was
Gloria arriving in sartorial splendor, pre-
ceded by the chauffeur carrying Gloria, Jr.
on a lace pillow, the baby wearing a mag-
nificent dress so long it hung over the sides
almost to the floor! And behind the baby
came Hattie — beaming with pride over the
way she had scooped up the infant's three
or four hairs!
Gloria was often hailed as "The Best
Dressed Woman" of the screen— but when
we get around to fashion horses of the past
fifteen years, I'm giving the Oscar for The
Best Dressed woman to Lilyan Tashman.
The girl who established her career on
what she wore and who both spent and
made a fortune on the styles she set.
Lilyan, tall, svelte, sophisticated blonde
who was married to Edmund Lowe in the
hey-day of his fame, always swore to me
that much of her famed style fame was
largely luck.
accidental glory . . .
She never tired of telling, or laughing
over, the way she started the fad of the
"Grecian Goddess" hair-do. It happened
this way: Lilyan had been selected by one
of the leading fashion magazines to create
a new hair-dress. The photographer was
to be at her home at a certain day and
hour, and try as she would, Lilyan could
think of nothing startling.
All morning long she sat with her hair-
dresser in a beauty parlor, curling and
uncurling her blonde hair — and still the
great inspiration didn't come. Finally, it
grew so late that she couldn't wait any
longer and dashed home with her hair still
sopping wet and still twisted in tiny, pre-
cise curls all over her head (even as you
and I look under the dryer).
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"pinned up," the fashion photographer
gasped and said, "Startling! Simply star-
tling! We'll call it 'The Greek Goddess'
coiffure, originated by Lilyan Tashman!"
And, believe me, it was a sensation — par-
ticularly sprayed with gold dust the way
Lilyan eventually got on to wearing it.
And all because she hadn't had time to
take the bobby pins out!
no talkie, no likee . . .
Lilyan was the most cooperative girl in
the world and a terrific favorite with the
press. I wish I could say the same for
Ginger Rogers whom I must nominate,
from my own experience alone, of course,
as The Least Cooperative Actress I have
ever known in 20 years of Hollywood. I'm
supposed to have it "in" for Ginger — which
isn't true. Rather, I think she has it "in"
for me because it has been frequently
reported to me that she doesn't see why
she should ever do anything to help me
since "Parsons is so rich!"
I have never been able to see what this
has to do with why she will never come
to the telephone when I call to check a
story with her. Getting a direct answer
out of Miss Rogers doesn't make me any
richer or any poorer. Among the men, I
have always found Jimmy Cagney a little
on the non-cooperative side, too, so I'm
giving him that Oscar among the males as
The Least Cooperative Actor — again en-
tirely from my own experience.
Sometimes I feel that actors who have
"aversions" to newspaper people because
they feel we "invade their privacy" are a
little mixed up about their careers. The
minute a player exposes himself to fame —
he has to take the spotlight along with it.
But The Most Confused and Bewildered
Young Actor I have ever known was Lew
Ayres.
Everyone now knows Lew's current
story — of the hell he went through when
he was a conscientious objector, of how he
overcame all that to become a medical aid
in the war, and how he has found peace,
at last, a deeply religious man who says he
will embrace the ministry when the war is
over. Certainly Lew was the unhappiest
of the rich and famous movie stars.
When he was at the height of his fame
he once said, "I don't know what to do
with all this," indicating his luxurious
hilltop home where he lived after his
divorce from Ginger Rogers, "I don't want
it." The few people who knew Lew well
enough to be invited to his home fre-
quently found they had a moody host on
hand.
Often, he would get bored with the
gossip and conversation at the dinner table
and, without finishing his meal, would go
off to the den to read a book on philosophy
or to sit at the organ and play strange,
haunting music. Hollywood never made
Lew happy. I sometimes wonder how it
ever attracted him in the first place.
The Star Most Indifferent to Success is
Bing Crosby— but in an entirely different
way from Lew. Bing knew what he wanted
from his career — and he got it. But he has
never let it go to his head. He wears
exactly what he pleases, says what he
pleases, sees the people he likes — and the
devil can take the hindermost of those
who might not like the way he behaves.
There was a time when I used to think
that Bing was very snooty. We used to
meet frequently in the old days of Santa
Anita, and once, in an elevator on our way
up to the Turf Club, I asked him, "Has
your horse a good chance in the big race,
Bing?"
"He's got four legs," was Mons. Crosby's
only answer. He didn't exactly mean to be
rude. It was just Bing's way of saying that
he didn't know whether his horse could
win or not. Since then, and particularly
during the past year, Bing and I have be-
come very good friends and I think I
understand him better. He just won't put
on "side" — and you can take him or leave
him. Personally, I take him.
heroes in civvies . . .
One of the Oscars Ye Ed i(Delacorte)
wanted me to award was which actor has
been The Most Patriotic. That I can't do.
Each and every boy who has gone from
Hollywood to the training camps and the
fighting fronts deserves to be called a good
soldier, sailor or Marine. Some of them
have been more outstanding than others —
particularly Commander Robert Mont-
gomery, Lieut.-Commander Douglas Fair-
banks Jr., Lieut. Tyrone Power and espe-
cially, Colonel Jimmy Stewart. But a man's
and an actor's love of his country is not to
be judged by the rank he achieves. Private
Mickey Rooney is doing as much in his
way as he can, and he is doing it for the
same reasons that motivate our more pub-
licized war heroes.
They are all fighting for the same thing
— to get this hellish war over with and
come home to the USA. When you speak
about patriotism, an actor ceases to be
just an actor and becomes that greatest
citizen in the world — John American.
While I refuse to name the most patriotic
star, the two civilians who deserve all
the credit they have received, are Joe E.
Brown and Bob Hope. Both of these men,
and others, too, have entertained under
fire. In a way, if there is any edge, it goes
to Joe E., who is a grandfather and who
went overseas right after the tragic death
of his pilot son, when his own heart was
breaking. "I've got to get in it, Louella,"
he told me, "I can't sit by!" More power
to a grand guy who has made our boys
love him. Bob is a younger man, but we
are not trying to take anything away from
him. Both men deserve this special tribute
and Oscar.
And now I am going to award a couple
of novelty Oscars to The Girls Who Are
The Most In Love With Love — Lana Tur-
ner, on the serious side — and Betty Hutton,
on the comedy. Betty really wants to get
married and makes no bones that she's out
looking for a man. She says point blank,
she's just "plain hard luck."
Lana, on the other hand, goes all out for
loooove and gets her man. Two or three
times it hasn't turned out well, but that
doesn't stop Lana, who is now in love — or
was when this was written — with Turhan
Bey, madly, madly, madly. But with Lana,
the hero is subject to change without
notice. However, while it lasts, she be-
lieves it is the only love that means
anything.
If I were a foolish girl I might attempt
to bestow an Oscar for The Best Actress or
The Best Actor of the past fifteen years.
We all have our favorites among the Bette
Davises, Ingrid Bergmans, Claudette Col-
berts, Irene Dunnes, Greta Garbos and the
Spencer Tracys, William Powells, Charles
Boyers et al. But, Editor Al, my neck isn't
long enough to stick out that far!
MODERN SCREEN BIRTHDAY
QUIZ
(Continued from page 66)
1.
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8. b
2.
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9. e
3.
h
10. c
4.
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11. o
5.
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12. a
6.
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BY JIMMY FIDLER
While we know who your pet Hollywood stars are
through the MODERN SCREEN POLL, we thought
it would be fun to have your favorites pick then
favorites— of 15 years ago! So here they are, plus a
few of my own observations to bring them up to date.
Dana Andrews picks Ronald Colman be-
cause—twenty-five years ago the eyebrow
wasn't so cocked, the voice so vibrant, the
smile so gentle as it is today. But even
then Ronnie had himself a whole swoon
section— one he's hung onto ever since.
So today's mommas go to the movies with
today's daughters and still swoon in the
same places and still sigh. Metros
"Kismet" was R's latest triumph— came
just about the same time as did Juliet, the
Colman-Benita Hume 9-month-old scene
stealer.
Turhan Bey picks Leslie Howard because—
the communique reads, "Missing and re-
ported killed June 1, 1943 en route Lisbon
to London in plane attacked by Germans."
Somehow, moviegoers and stage lovers of
the past 20 years can't accept this notice,
because as long as there are audiences
alive to remember his "Intermezzo," "The
Petrified Forest" and "Of Human Bond-
age," those lines will be just another horror
from the enemy's propaganda files. Leslie
Howard still lives— leaving behind as he
did a wife and children, a theater tradition,
a soldier's legend.
June Allyson picks Charles "Buddy" Rogers
because— people thought he was too good
looking to ever ditch that "Buddy" tag.
To turn from crooning to acting. To in-
terest any but the jitterbug crowd. So in
1929 he was elected a "Money Making
Star" by the Motion Picture Almanac, ap-
peared in 21 movies and eventually per-
suaded America's beloved "Sweetheart,"
Mary Pickford, to become Mrs. Co-Pro-
ducer Rogers! Or, to be technical, Mrs.
Navy Lieutenant Charles Rogers!
Inqrid Bergman picks Ben Lyon because—
like scotch and soda, Sears and Roebuck,
Baltimore and Ohio, back in the 30's there
was always Ben Lyon and Bebe Daniels.
By turn they were slick and sophisticated,
corny and cute, laughing and loving. Ben
was "straight man" for his ever-lovin'
spouse and continued in that tradition
when the couple went overseas to remain
and become Britain's favorite radio team.
But came la guerre, came Ben back home.
He's a full Colonel in the U.S. Army
now, serving abroad, serving his country.
Anne Baxter picks Charles Farrell because
—with Charley in "Seventh Heaven" the
per capita consumption of feminine finger-
nails went up 70% and the greatest movie
love team of all time was born— Farrell
and Janet Gaynor. The stone of their popu-
larity could have gone on rolling indefi-
nitely, but Charles grew bored, turned to
his favorite sport, tennis, added a little
showmanship, and founded the swank
"Racquet Club" in Palm Springs. As to
present doings, the star of "Seventh
Heaven" is very busy knocking those little
sons of heaven right out of their niches
in the So. Pacific via aircraft carrier— as
Lieut. Charles Farrell, USN!
Shirley Temple picks James Dunn because
she appeared in her first picture with the
dashing Jimmy and nearly plucked herself
bald every time she'd hear cracks about
his being a Dublin flash in the pan who
wouldn't last. And he didn't. No more
than 15 years, anyhow. Sure he hit a few
rough spots during that time but what-
ever it was he had, that gee-you're-won-
derful catch in his voice or that grin,
along came Betty Smith with her wonder-
ful Brooklyn growing tree and Jimmy was
in, up and very definitely not out. P.S.
The still adoring Shirley saw "A Tree
Grows, etc." an even dozen times— how's
that for keeping the faith?
Dick Crane picks Hoot Gibson because
with "Hoot" it's always literally, "home on
the range," for that's really the only place
he's completely happy, with a saddle under
him and space for an ear-busting "Yip-
pee!"—no small wonder for a guy born in a
town like Tekamah! Edward still does a
few pix now and then, just for the heck of
it, but that's all it amounts to. No guy
could manage that miles-upon-miles San
Fernando Valley ranch and those vet hos-
pital visits and peace-time woolly rodeos
and still act. But "Hoot's" doing O.K. He's
doing fine!
Its those
rounded ends
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One glance and you
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Bette Davis picks Paul Lukas because—
Paul's the kind of actor who makes hep-
cats feel like Garbo and matrons feel like
Greer. He knows his business backwards
(Continued on page 88)
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and forwards and can do anything from the
dashing, headstrong "Lilliom" that he
played back home in Budapest in 1916, to
the weary, legend-making Kurt Muller in
"Watch On The Rhine." Only thing is,
good-natured Mr. L. gets annoyed some-
times. "It's fantastic," he reasons, "how
many times I have been 'discovered!' " But
that Oscar he won for "Watch" perma-
nently sets him head and shoulders above
the crowd— just high enough for the hep-
cats to smoulder and the matrons to swoon.
Jeanne Crain picks Jackie Cooper be-
cause— this was the kid who used to take
your heart in his two dirty hands and
squeeze until the tears came to your eyes.
And then he'd grin. Not a cocky, aren't-I-
the-prodigy-though kind of laugh, but a
gentle curl of the lip that was far sadder
than tears. And no matter what he played
—"Donovan's Kid," "Sooky," "The Champ,"
"Peck's Bad Boy"— he was always the same
little feller with the turned around cap and
the knickers torn at one knee. He was
always Skippy. Well, Skippy grew up.
Grew up enough to embrace a very won-
derful looking gal, his Mrs., June Home,
and a very wonderful -working organiza-
tion, the U.S. Navy, as a Seaman 2nd Class!
James Craig picks Gary Cooper because —
Coop's laugh- crinkled eyes go steely at the
mention of "drawing room cowboy" and
his jaw tightens. A cowboy from way back,
Gary never could quite figure out what in
tarnation he was doing simpering in front
of that there measly camera. But time
passed and with it the agonies of embar-
rassment. And Coop hit the Hollywood
drawing room jackpot with such a clatter
that now he's producer and top actor for
International Pictures with barely enough
time for squiring around Mrs. C, the ex-
Sandra "Rocky" Shaw.
Bob Walker picks Will Rogers because—
somehow, I always believed that Will knew
more, much more than "just what he read
in the papers." He was a smart man as
well as a good one and no better proof is
needed than in the splendid record his son,
former Congressman Will Rogers, Jr., set
in his advanced and humanitarian reforms.
As a tribute to Will, who, with his dear
friend, Wiley Post, was killed in an air
crash in the Fall of 1935, his estate grounds
have been designated a public park.
Ann Sheridan picks Lew Ayres because —
to Lew must go credit for having been not
only one of the most talented and intelli-
gent actors around, but also for being one
of the very few truly sincere men I have
ever known. Lew knew that when he
announced his anti-war inclinations at the
time of his intended induction, a huge
storm would be raised over his undefended
head. Well, Lew's in the South Pacific
"now as a medical aide, yellow from the
huge doses of atabrine he's been taking
for that tropical fever, almost completely
white-haired from the mental and emo-
tional strain. But he's going on doing what
he feels is the most good for the most
people, firmly resolved to enter the church
as soon as peace is ours. A truly sincere
man.
John Payne picks Clara Bow because —
Clara was to the 20's what Ann Sheridan,
Bacall and Grable are to the '45 swoon set.
She was one of the few actresses who
didn't mind admitting that she was a
woman, that she had legs and that legs
had functions other than walking! But
Clara's given up the movies in favor of the
quiet life on that Nevada ranch with hubby
Rex Bell, who not only bought the huge
place (after they'd been living in a rented
one for so long) — but simultaneously en-
tered politics and ran for State Repre-
sentative!
Tom Drake picks Norma Shearer because—
whenever first ladies are mentioned and
graciousness and dignity and charm, Nor-
ma Shearer is mentioned in the same
breath and while the sadness isn't quite
all gone from her eyes, she can now talk
about her late husband, Irving Thalberg.
And why not? She's remarried, to Martin
Arrouge, the ski instructor she met at Sun
Valley and theirs is a happy, contented
life. Martin is a Naval Officer now on
active duty and so Norma takes her place
with the millions of other war wives, caring
for her two children, her home, her heart
for the husband who'll be home— ' soon.
Bob Hope picks Harold Lloyd because—
To most people, Harold Lloyd will always
be the funny man with the dark goggle
glasses and the smirk. The fella with the
custard pie in the face, the foot in the seat
of the pants and the audience in the palm
of his hand. He's turned the tables, now,
or, to be truthful, he's just let down the
funny man's face and is letting folks m
on a glimpse of the real Lloyd. Said
Lloyd being not only a functioning movie
executive, head of Harold Lloyd Produc-
tions, but a radio director as well, with a
bouncing comedy air show all his own.
Betty Hutton picks Edward G. Robinson
because— Eddie's the original "between
two worlds" guy. You're positive hes a
real life "Little Caesar" until you overhear
him discussing Picasso, Rembrandt or Dali,
then you start muttering, "That was two
other fellas." But it's not, not really. Be-
cause ever since those early days in Bu-
charest, E.G.'s had the soul of a scholar
and the face of a vaguely confused bulldog
—which combination has gone far and long
to make Mr. Robinson a.) an authority on
art, b.) a leading movie figure, c.) a
wealthy man. Good, yes?
Paillette Goddard picks Douglas Fairbanks,
Jr. because— Doug is probably one of the
few sons of great men who turned out to
be great himself, who was able to distin-
guish between being a "chip off the old
block" and just copy-catting his way to
fame. There's no question but that hes
inherited the famed Fairbanks, Sr. swash-
buckle and charm but the intelligence hes
demonstrated in both his professional and
private life are very evidently all his own.
In some die-hard quarters, he's still
thought of as "young Doug," but hunt up
the reference books and the birthdate
comes out 1908—37 being neither too young
nor too old for him to be a Lieut. Com-
mander in the U.S. Navy— with medals!
Van Johnson picks Greta Garbo because—
while GG will always have a small group
of despairing females ready to make snide
remarks about "canal boat feet" or "vege-
tarian bug", to most of the world, she will
always stand for something not quite
earthy, something fragile and wonderful
and super-artistic. Always a believer in
quality, rather than quantity she still re-
fuses to do any number of scripts which
have been tailor-written for her and is
currently browsing about New York read-
ing new stage plays.
June Haver picks Mary Pickford because—
Nothing new has been added to Mary Pick-
ford— not that anything new was ever
needed' She's still as fresh and winsome
as the "Tess of the Storm Country," "Mis-
tress Nell" and "Madame Butterfly" of the
early 1900's which your mom and pop so
loved. But if Mary was always "America s
Sweetheart," she was always one of its
leading business women, as well. Begin-
ning with the Mary Pickford Company
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Tragic scenes like this, now, in their once-
happy home. Tearfully, Ellen seeks the
reason. Why has her husband become so
silent, strange? Little does Ellen realize
Qua lives la
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about feminine hygiene— is to blame. How
much heartache she would have spared
herself if she had known about Lysol!
How different the scenes between Ann
and her husband, still as loving as newly-
weds! Ann, like thousands of modern
wives, uses Lysol disinfectant regularly
and often for feminine hygiene. Her
doctor advised Lysol solution as an effec-
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and deodorizes. Yet so gentle for douch.
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. . . just follow easy directions. "Lysol
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which she organized in 1916, giving 1 e
one-half interest in all her pictures, s , •
has continued her producing activities msi i
now, 29 years later, she is the new own 2r
of an independent picture producing com-
pany. Which is one of the most painless
ways anyone could think of to while away
the time until V-day and the return of
a warrior husband— in this case, Lieut.
Charles Rogers, USN.
Dick Jaeckel picks Jimmy Cagney be-
cause—Jimmy Cagney is one song and
dance man "gone straight" who's made the
big time! Meaning, he's one entertainer
who started out as a vaudevillian and
ended up by heading the lists of top dra-
matic actors. There's probably very little
about show business which Jimmy doesn't
know and he's putting this fund of knowl-
edge into Cagney Productions, the outfit he
partners with his brother, Bill. But Jimmy
still has a soft spot in his sentimental Irish
heart for his old song-and-snappy patter
routine — that's what made him such a
standout in "Yankee Doodle Dandy" and
netted him the 1942 male Oscar.
Lon McCallister picks Janet Gaynor be-
cause— the caterpillar has become a but-
terfly, the femme fatale has emerged—
Janet Gaynor is grown up! Fond audiences
who remember her in "Seventh Heaven"
and "Sunny Side Up" were startled, to say
the least, at how woman-of-the-worldish
she appeared in "A Star Is Born," but no
more so than even her intimate friends
and neighbors when they beheld Janet as
the living proof of "clothes" making the
woman." The transformation occurred,
normally enough, at the time of Janet's
marriage to Designer Adrian who made
her the envy of her sex by producing those
originals— and small son Robin.
Betty Grable picks Carole Lombard be-
cause—Carole was a very rare phenom-
enon in Hollywood, an actress who was
honest, a woman who was loved by other
women— even after she married all woman-
kind's one dream of romance! There were
no "inside angles" to Carole's personality,
no "hidden traits." She was just a very
intense, vivid, love-needing girl, severely
critical of herself and her work, meltingly
generous to everyone else, a girl who loved
living even more than she loved life.
Carole gave up that life for her country,
being a good sport and an American, and
probably thinks it was a fair setup. Not
so the rest of us, not so Clark Gable.
Frank Sinatra picks Binq Crosby because —
talking about Bing is like discussing oat-
meal or Time. It's always wholesome, nor-
mal and unnecessary. It's good to know
he's there, that he and Dixie and the boys
are well and kicking and that no matter
what happens, no matter what he does—
he'll do it in Technicolor! One of Bingo's
greatest dreams has just been realized, he
won the Academy Award for 1944, and
even though he insists the only reason he
wanted the Oscar so badly was to please
his aging, fond father, everybody and his
brother was in there pitching for one of
the swellest guys around. P.S. Watch for
"The Great John L." It's the Groaner's
first as an independent producer.
Lana Turner picks Maurice Chevalier be-
cause— to most people, France has always
meant Paris and postcards, ladies in black
dresses and bicycles, spring flowers — and
Maurice. Well, maybe France has changed
a bit since the old days but not so her
spring flowers— nor Chevalier. He's still in
there pitching, entertaining troops, unbe-
lievably happy now that the French Un-
derground has completely absolved him of
any taint of collaborationist activities, that
he has the honor of being London's first
importation to her Victoria Palace theater.
SWEET AND HOT
(Continued from page 14)
and that song from Marion Davies' first
talkie, "Marianne," "Just You, Just Me."
. . . Looks like everybody's jumping on the
Hollywood bandwagon. Ted Lewis in
Warner's "Show of Shows," Abe Lyman
in "Holiday" and "Just Imagine." And
that band that was such a sensation at
the Cotton Club last year, that Duke
Ellington, he's going out West for his first
feature film, "Check and Double Check,"
with Amos and Andy. Say, I just read
an article in the paper that said "Are
Musical Movies On The Way Out?" Well,
with "New Moon" and "Just Imagine"
and this big new production based on the
life of Paul Whiteman, "King of Jazz," in
color and all, how can they talk that way?
Still, I guess they always will, just for
something to talk about. Ten, twenty
years from now they'll be saying the
same thing.
(Here's some good ones for the books —
Johnny Green's new tune, "Body And
Sold," and the latest by George Whiting,
"My Ideal." And Jimmy McHugh's still
turning out hits — he has one called "On
The Sunny Side of The Street."' Cute
idea.)
Got to catch up on the new records.
They say the phonograph industry is in
a bad slump since the crash last Fall, but
gosh, there's plenty of good stuff still
coming out. Have you heard that new
one by Fletcher Henderson, "Chinatown,
My Chinatown," and "Somebody Loves
Me?" He has some fine young musicians
in the band — kids like John Kirby, Benny
Carter, Rex Stewart, and, of course, the
great Coleman Hawkins — and a guitar
player named Clarence Holiday; he has a
daughter named Billie, only thirteen, they
say she's going to be a great singer some
day.
Got to get both those new records of
"Rockin' Chair." One's by Mildred Bailey
— she's been using it as her radio theme,
of course. The other's by the composer
himself, Hoagy Carmichael, playing piano
and leading his own band. There's Bix
Beiderbecke and Bubber Miley on trum-
pets, Tommy Dorsey on trombone, Benny
Goodman on clarinet, Bud Freeman on
tenor sax, Joe Venuti on hot fiddle, Eddie
Lang on guitar and that fine young drum-
mer from Chicago, Gene Krupa. Some
of these fellows have been making a lot
of records with Red Nichols, too, as well
as playing with him in the pit bands for
some of the Broadway shows. Men like
Jack Teagarden and Glenn Miller on
trombones, Benny Goodman, Jimmy Dor-
sey and Babe Russin and Adrian Rollini
on saxes. Nichols certainly is the big man
on records these days. He calls his band
the Five Pennies but there are always at
least eleven of 'em.
(Say, I see where Victor's Hot Tune Of
The Month is a thing called "Boogie
Woogie," recorded by King Oliver. They
think of more weird titles, don't they?
Better get a copy of that, and while I
think of it, let's rehearse "The Stein
Song" tomorrow — and "Rio Rita," "Little
White Lies" and "Lady Play Your
Mandolin.")
Did you hear the new records by Louis
Armstrong? He picked up a band out
West, has some good men in it; trombonist
by the name of Lawrence Brown and a
se"°nteen-year-old drummer who's sen-
sational, named Lionel Hampton. They
uid a "I'm A Ding Dong Daddy," "Con-
fessin' That I Love You," "If I Could
Be With You," (Continued on page 94)
ScotedTa
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Newlyweds Gloria De Haven and John Payne had a lovely time
at M-G-M's party for MODERN SCREEN. Bet Gloria wonders
it John expects her to make all these! (They're easy. Gloria!)
All work and no play makes Jack a
dull boy — so perhaps you'll want
to plan a party for good friends
working hard to help win the war
■ Everything has a birthday-
trees get more and more annual
rings, tires less and less tread,
oysters make bigger and bigger
pearls as the year's irritations
mount, boys and girls have more
and more birthday candles and
Modern Screen just keeps right on
getting more and more readers!
That is why, out in Hollywood, a lot of charming
people— The M-G-M, Twentieth-Fox and Paramount
studios— gave Modern Screen birthday parties and
fifteen pats on the back cover with one to grow on!
And there were refreshments— tasty little nibbles of
which everyone ate more than they'd planned to.
A really lovely time was had by one and all.
We hope there will be a lot of happy occasions in
your life in the near future which deserve a party.
V-day and your favorite G.I. home for keeps, a good
friend's birthday or engagement, or something else nice.
You'll want suggestions for tempting little delicacies,
not too hard to make. Some of the tidbits served at
the Modern Screen birthday parties would be especially
appetizing with cocktails, iced tea or carbonated
beverages.
You already know that the appearance of food is like
a first taste. Remember to get some dainty lace paper
doilies, parsley or watercress, extra lemons to be cut
into attractive shapes for garnishing. Nasturtium leaves
are lovely— when available lay one On each individual
sandwich plate. Olives, small cubes of ham or cheese,
narrow strips of bologna rolled around a sliver of
pickle, shrimp, one-inch squares of pickled herring or
cocktail sausages can be placed on gaily colored tooth-
Courtesy National Dairy Co
'The
He Knave of Hearts he stole those tarts," but the way we
hear the story the queen was so flattered she invited him to her
U next party and made these special cherry ice cream tarts I
It takes real will power
to make a choice among
these delicious tidbits!
By Nancy Wood
picks and stuck into a grapefruit, bright
red apple, egg plant or small, good-looking
head of green or red cabbage.
Trim crusts from thinly sliced bread,
cut into fancy little shapes and toast before
spreading. If bread is too fresh to cut
neatly, chill it in the refrigerator.
Some of these Modern Screen hors
d'oeuvres should be good bachelor bait:
Remember, very few men can resist
deviled eggs, especially if there are chopped
olives in the stuffing and they're topped
with a gay little strip of pimento.
Now, on to our canapes! Very attractive
and as good as they look— toasted strips
of bread heaped with cream cheese in
which slices of radish have been set. Dust
with paprika.
Cream cheese is the smooth, rich basis
for another delicacy. Spread toast strips
with cream cheese. Place ball of avocado
(or chopped cucumber marinated in French
dressing) on one end. Decorate other end
with slices of black and green olives.
Crisp cracker covered with smoked
salmon. Top with finely mashed cottage
cheese blended with minced chives.
If bacon hasn't become a collector's item
in your community, mix peanut butter and
crisp bacon bits. Serve on toasted cracker.
These will look yummy on your appe-
tizer tray: Put hard-cooked eggs through
ricer (or coarse sieve), blend with
mayonnaise and prepared mustard to taste.
Spread on diamond shaped bits of bread
and top with anchovy. If you can't get
anchovy, use a sprig of crisp watercress.
Increasingly popular is the tray of
assorted cheeses, served with toasted
crackers or buttered triangles of bread.
More or less easily available these days
are camembert, Liederkranz, blue cheese
and a variety of cream spreads.
So much for the non-sweet party re-
freshments. Perhaps your friends have
sweet-tooths (could this possibly be the
correct plural?) then naturally you'll give
them a beverage such as hot or iced coffee
or tea or carbonated beverages. With these
beverages go ice cream or gelatin desserts,
cookies, cake or tarts. Maybe you'd like
to start with little sandwiches such as
cream or cottage cheese and chopped nuts,
olives or jam. Chicken sandwiches are
easy to make and everyone likes them.
A delicately pink and perfectly delicious
ice cream can be made by adding half
maraschino cherry juice and half water
to your favorite packaged vanilla ice cream
mix. When you've beaten it smooth and
light after its first freezing, add % cup
chopped cherries and % cup chopped nut
meats. Freeze firm for serving. This will
serve four or five. Multiply the recipe as
many times as needed for your guests, but
better plan to use an ice cream freezer
in that case.
Hello! Here we are, at the bottom
of our column and we haven't had
the space to tell you about a very
delicate orange and nut cake we
love! Nor an easy-to-make fruit
milk sherbet! Then there's a choco-
late brownie you'd love to serve with
ice cold lemonade or fruit juice,
several recipes for long, delicious
cold summer drinks. And you must
have the recipe for fruit chiffon
tarts!
Just send us that stamped, self-
addressed envelope while you think
of it. Address:
THE MODERN HOSTESS, DEPT. B. P.
MODERN SCREEN MAGAZINE
149 Madison Ave., New York 16, N. Y.
In wartime, especially, it isn't easy to make the
kind of soap people expect to find inside the
Fels-Naptha wrapper. It isn't easy to get all the
ingredients necessary to make Fels-Naptha* pre-
eminent among fine laundry soaps.
And that's only half the story. Now, a larger
share of our stock of materials and our manufac- .
turing facilities must be used to make good soap
for men and women in active service.
Obviously, this will mean some further incon-
venience for civilians. In the months ahead, you
may have to wait more often for the familiar
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shelf . . .
but the soap inside the Fels-Naptha
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We think the average woman wants to know these
plain facts about the supply of Fels-Naptha Soap.
We think her loyalty to a good name will survive
this time of trial, which is shared — in some
way — by all.
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and that talkie song, "I'm In The Market
For You." Louis sounds better than ever,
and I've been listening to him since he
worked here in New York with Fletcher
Henderson's band back in '24, six years
ago.
I hear Duke Ellington's recording the
song from his movie, "Three Little Words,"
and using Paul Whiteman's Three Rhythm
Boys for the vocal— Al Rinker (that's Mil-
dred Bailey's young brother) and Harry
Barris (the fellow who just wrote a new
song called "I Surrender Dear") and Bing
Crosby. They ought to sound good with
the Duke — they've sure done a swell job
with Whiteman.
(We're still getting requests for "When
It's Springtime In The Rockies" — don't
forget that one, Joe. And you know what
I keep hearing on the air? "Beyond The
Blue Horizon." And "Fine and Dandy."
And another Jimmy McHugh one, "Ex-
actly Like You.")
This Rudy Vallee certainly is sitting on
top of the world, huh? Had a night club
named for him, made a talkie, got a cast-
iron NBC contract, publishing a book
about himself, women fainting all over the
place before he even gets the megaphone
to his lips. That reminds me, we ought
to make up an arrangement on "Some-
thing To Remember You By." If Vallee
does it, it's sure fire.
Bert Lown's doing very nicely at the
Biltmore, they say. And I hear young
Ozzie Nelson's done a grand job out at
the new Glen Island Casino in New
Rochelle. Plays saxophone, guitar and
violin — talented kid. But the big names
are still mostly out on the Coast. Did you
see the list of celebrities who've been
swarming into the Ambassador Hotel in
Los Angeles to hear Gus Arnheim's or-
chestra? Clara Bow and Rex Bell, Marian
Nixon, Marie Dressier, Sally Eilers, just
about everybody who's anybody, I guess.
Say, you know this songwriter Billy
Rose, the one who wrote "I've Got A
Feeling I'm Falling" with Fats Waller and
Andy Razaf? They say he's decided to
become a producer and opened his own
offices. Some fellers don't know when
they're well off. He'll lose his shirt. I
hear Razaf teamed up with Noble Sissle
and Eubie Blake to do the new "Black-
birds" show.
Talking about Sissle, did you hear what
a big hit he was in Paris at the Am-
bassadors? Looks like all you have to do
nowadays to make a hit with a band is
go to Europe and come back so you can
announce "Direct From Sensational Euro-
pean Tour!"
Horace Heidt just came back from over
there; now he's playing theatres all over
the country and cleaning up. Hal Kemp
was big in London and Paris, too. Had
that youngster Bunny Berigan in his
trumpet section. And they say the Ted
Lewis band got $5,000 a week at the Kit
Cat in London. Some of his boys made
some records with Spike Hughes while
they were in England. Spike is the local
hot jazz hero and he got Jimmy Dorsey,
who was making the trip with Lewis, to
sit in on a record session with him.
Funny how almost all the big band-
leaders in London are Americans, even
if they have all-British bands. Howard
Jacobs, for instance, he's the big noise
at Claridge's, they say he's getting as much
as $500 a week for himself, net. And Roy
Fox at Cafe de Paris, Ray Starita, Carroll
Gibbons — all from over here, but formed
bands over there.
(Last set coming up, Joe — give 'em
"Cheerful Little Earful" and "It Happened
In Monterey." And don't forget the "Pagan
Love Song," they always go for that!)
After that little excursion into the past,
here I am back in 1945 with some slightly
more up to date gossip. The big talk of
the day concerns Benny Goodman's new
band. From what I heard at rehearsals
and their first broadcasts via Fitch Band-
wagon and Spotlight Bands, I'd say Benny
has hit his stride very fast. Despite the
difficulty of getting men at almost any
price nowadays, he's done a fine job, rop-
ing in such people as Trummy Young on
trombone and Jane Harvey, a promising
singer who was a hit last season at Cafe
Society Downtown. But the big kick of
course is the Quintet (or Sextet, when he
adds a guitar for records) — with Red Norvo
on vibes, Teddy Wilson on piano and Slam
Stewart, who used to be with Slim and
Slam, bowing his bass and doing those
weird vocal noises. Between them and
drummer Morey Feld, it's the solidest
small group Benny's had since the me-
morable 1941 outfit with Cootie Williams
and Georgie Auld. Red Norvo tells me
that working with Teddy is his idea of
paradise, and an inspiration both to him-
self and Benny.
Glad to note that Benny is continuing
his policy of taking an occasional vocal
himself, as he did with the band he had
in '43. I suspect Benny's wife was the in-
stigator of this, just as several other facets
of the Goodman policy, such as his in-
tention of avoiding too much travel away
from New York, can be traced to Alice —
and she's right, since the headaches in-
volved are too numerous. As you read
this BG will probably have followed Duke
Ellington into the 400 Club on Fifth
Avenue.
Tommy Dorsey's stay at that increas-
ingly popular spot caused plenty of ex-
citement. Brother Jimmy, who didn't
speak to TD for so many years, came
in beaming on the opening night and sat
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in with the band, as did Roy Eldridge.
Lana Turner was in several times, though
Buddy Rich told me he's engaged to some-
one else. Tommy made a sensational
move in adding Charlie Shavers to his
trumpet section. In spite of the big string
section, the band swings, thanks to terrific
work by men like Buddy and Charlie.
At a couple of after-theater gab sessions,
sitting around with Artie Shaw and Ava
Gardner, I found him as stimulating a
talker as ever. He's on a rampage against
people who make fast distinctions between
"jazz" and "classical" music.
Said Artie, "There's no such thing as
writing a classic. When Beethoven sat
down to write his Fifth Symphony he
didn't say to himself, 'This will be a
classic' The Fifth Symphony is good be-
cause Beethoven was a great musician,
and a hundred years from now the really
fine music of today will also be classic.
Classic applies to any work good enough
to be a model of its kind."
This Shaw man makes a lot of sense.
Some day I wish he'd write a book. Talk-
ing of which reminds me that Barry
Ulanov, most literate of all the jazz
critics, is working furiously on a full-
length book on Duke Ellington which will
be published in the fall.
Barry and I spent a wonderful day out
at Louis Armstrong's house in Queens.
Louis's sister, up on a visit — first time in
her life — made us the most fantastic
Louisiana gumbo, a gourmet's dream.
Louis, still the same wonderful-natured
Satchmo whom I first met in 1932 at the
Palladium in London, reminisced about
his 28 years in the music business. Louis
also spoke very forcefully about the need
for progress — he just can't understand
some of the jazz fans who worship the
musicians he played with in the 1920's,
in preference to the great young musicians
of today. When we asked Louis to name
the great hot jazz trumpet men of today,
the first name that sprang to his lips was
that of Roy Eldridge. t
Oh, before I forget — this department,
only in its second month, has already
seen one of its predictions come true! Pearl
Bailey, the great singer about whom I
raved last month as a movie bet, just
called to tell me she'll shortly be signing
a seven-year pact with MGM. Don't forget
to watch for her — remember Pearl Bailey!
w
Dear Boys:
What can I give Modern Screen for her
birthday? She wouldn't care for perfume
or hankies — or even a diamond bracelet,
if I could afford it. I can't cook, or I'd bake
her a birthday cake with fifteen candles.
That's what I did for my mother once and,
when I wasn't looking, she threw it in the
garbage can. So you can imagine —
So I'll give her the only thing I can. The
grin on my face when you ran my first
picture — my yips and gurgles over every
story about me — the way I laughed and
cried when I made the poll. I don't know
what she'll do with the silly bundle, but
here it is, all wrapped in love and tied up
with gratefulness.
Please hand it to her for me, will you,
boys? And I hope she'll be as happy on
her birthday as she's made me.
June Ally son
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HAPPY BIRTHDAY FROM M.G.M.
{Continued from page 40)
Gus Gale, MS's photographer, shows Eliz-
abeth T. how he takes these wonderful
pics, while someone else snaps the lesson.
Lucille Ball, who danced with her Desi Arnaz
for the crowd (they're a couple of the best
dancers here), gets a compliment from Craig.
THANKS A MILLION!
Thanks Metro, and Paramount and 20th Cen-
tury-Fox for making those wonderful birth-
day parties possible. The least we can do in
return is to tell our readers what current or
soon-to-come pictures all these stars appear
in. Here's the list. Check off your favorites:
Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer
(pages 38, 39, 40, 41)
Greer Garson "Valley of Decision"
Hedy Lamarr
"Her Highness and the Bellboy"'
Jimmy Durante
"Two Girls from Boston" (Forthcoming)
Gloria De Haven . . "Between Two Women"
Esther Williams "Thrill of a Romance"
Van Johnson ...... "Thrill of a Romance"
Elizabeth Taylor.'. "Hold High the Torch"
Robert Walker
"Her Highness and the Bellboy"
Tom Drake "This Man's Navy"
Peter Lawf ord "Son of Lassie"
Judy Garland "The Clock"
James Craig ..."Gentle Annie"
Phyllis Thaxter "Alter-Ego"
Jan Clayton "This Man's Navy"
Lucille Ball
"Ziegfeld Follies" and "Without Love"
Twentieth Century-Fox
(pages 42, 43, 44. 45)
William Eythe
"A Royal Scandal" and "'Colonel Effing-
ham's Raid"
Anne Baxter "A Royal Scandal"
John Payne "The Dolly Sisters"
Gene Tierney
"A Bell for Adano" and "Dragonwyck"
Dana Andrews "State Fair"
Dick Crane ' Captain Eddie"
Jeanne Crain -'State Fair"
June Haver "The Dolly Sisters"
Vivian Blaine. ."Nob Hill" and "State Fair"
Stanley Prager "A Bell for Adano"
Henry Morgan "A Bell for Adano"
Charles Russell "Captain Eddie"
Eddie Rvan "The Caribbean Mystery"
John Hodiak "A Bell For Adano"
Paramount
(pages 46, 47, 48, 49, 50. 51)
Sonny Tufts "Miss Susie Slagle"
Marjorie Reynolds. . ."Bring on the Girls"
Diana Lynn "Out of This World"
Barbara Britton. "The Virginian"
Gail Russell "Salty O'Rourke"
Joan Caulfield "Miss Susie Slagle '
William Bendix
"Two Years Before the Mast"
William Demarest "Salty O'Rourke"
Eddie Bracken "Out of This World"
Olga San Juan "Out of This World"
Alan Ladd "Salty O'Rourke"
Veronica Lake "Out of This World"
Gill Lamb "Practically Yours"
Jim Brown '
"Our Hearts Were Growing Up
John Coy "Bring on the Girls"
Glenn Ford (Columbia star)
Lana Turner (M-G-M star)
"Weekend at the Waldorf"
Turhan Bey (Universal star)
"Night In Paradise"
W^JWVWJWW
Dear Al and Henry:
There are two things I'd like to say to
Modern Screen on its fifteenth birthday.
Congratulations and thanks.
The first explains itself. The second —
well, maybe thatfs obvious too, but on
birthdays you try to put your feelings into
words. Right now, Hollywood's a long way
off, and I'm casting no backward glances
at it. Right now, all that counts is the
Army Air Force. But some day the war'll
be over, and when that day comes, I hope
to go back into films.
Modern Screen's been swell to me from
the start. But I think you've been extra
swell to actors in the service. I'm not talk-
ing about guys like Gable and Reagan.
They'll always be in, no matter how long
they're out. But fellows who were just
starting out — the Grangers, O'Connors,
Jaeckels, McCallisters — you've certainly
done your best to keep our memories
green —
For myself, thanks, fellas. Thanks for
being interested, thanks for the breaks,
thanks for helping me feel there may be
a job to come back to. And good luck to
you, too.
Lon.
Before
Ml
I lost 77 pounds in 6 months!
—says Mrs. Jane Ende of Rock Island, III.
SI
"Most women worry when their weight
goes up just a few pounds," says Mrs.
Jane Ende. "Can you imagine, then, how
I felt— watching those scales go up ... UP
...UP! until I actually weighed 202. I
think my greatest jolt came when I went
to buy a dress and had to take a size 44.
Right then was when I decided to start the
DuBarry Success Course."
1 The first six weeks she lost 30 pounds.
She kept right on and went through her
course again and again. Today she weighs
just 125— is slim, trim, attractive.
"Life is very different now" she declares.
"I look and feel as a young woman of 28
should. I can wear smart, stylish, youth-
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MRS. JANE ENDE'S MEASUREMENTS TELL THE STORY
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THESE ARE THE LOVELIEST!
(Continued from page 58)
Gracie Fields' hilarious song about the
Aspidistra, and apologies for Johnson,
Bogart, Flynn, Milland and Cotten as vic-
tims of the biggest Astigmatism in the
world!
"Astigmatism" commonly is defined in
dictionaries as "a structural defect of the
eye, such that the rays of light do not con-
verge to a point on the retina." That is
Messrs. Funk and Wagnalls' polite way
of saying that the five Hollywood heroes
are so cross-eyed that they couldn't see
Catalina on a clear day. Either these
five boys are cross-eyed, or they don't
get around. (On second thought, this is
hard to believe. Bogart covers more
ground, standing still at Burbank, than
a World Atlas, and Flynn, according to
stories I read in the papers, gets to the
darnedest places.) No, I'm afraid they are
just cross-eyed, and Van Johnson also
suffers from youth, which I would like
to be suffering from too!
As it stood when I came in, these five
favorites of yours had voted Garbo and
Lamarr into a tie for first place. They
voted Ingrid Bergman, Marlene Dietrich,
Joan Crawford and Dolores Del Rio into
a four-cornered tie for second place. And
there was a four-cornered tie for third,
Olivia de Havilland, Danielle Darrieux,
Virginia Bruce and Loretta Young.
With the deciding vote entrusted to me
by the editors of this magazine, I hereby
pick Hedy Lamarr as more gorgeous than
the stunning Garbo; I pick Ingrid Berg-
man to dissolve the second tie, and I pick
Loretta Young as winner of the tie for
third. Which gives us Hedy Lamarr,
Greta Garbo, Ingrid Bergman, Marlene
Dietrich, Joan Crawford, Dolores Del
Rio, Loretta Young, Virginia Bruce, Olivia
de Havilland and Danielle Darrieux as
the Top Ten. (These are the selections of
Van Johnson, Bogart, Ray Milland, Flynn
and Joe Cotten, not mine. I disown that
cross-eyed jury.)
In acting as the expert swordsman to
cut the Gordian knot, I concede that I
am a dope. Judging beauty contests, of
any kind, is hazardous and perilous. The
judge can't win! Immediately this maga-
zine is on the street, menacing voices will
telephone and tell me off. This is to be
expected. From the dawn of time, the
subject of beauty has engrossed more
men than you can shake a sorority at.
To console those who aren't beautiful,
various writers have disparaged its pos-
session. So we have the Polish proverb:
"Beauty will not season soup." As though
any guy in his right mind would want
soup with a Hedy Lamarr at his table!
Some author, smart enough to remain
Anon., thus went morbid:
"Beauty is but skin deep;
Ugly lies the bone;
Beauty dies and fades away,
But Ugly holds its own."
Truest summation of all, of course, is
that beauty is in the eye of the beholder.
Each one of us responds to something
else, and the something else may be a
blonde, brunette or titian-haired. So
while I can disagree with Bogart, Flynn,
Johnson, Cotten and Milland, just as cer-
tainly they can disagree with my equally
stubborn and positive preferences because
beauty IS in the eye of the beholder!
In "Algiers," Hedy Lamarr was, I think,
the most exciting beauty ever to appear
on film. Jimmy Howe, who photographed
her, can take credit for at least an assist!
Jimmy (his formal tag is James Wong
Howe) always has claimed that to become
a glamour girl, a woman needs only two
features — full lips and expressive eyes.
He proved it with Hedy Lamarr, because
there are two weaknesses in The Lamarr:
she has a slightly weak chin, and is a bit
on the flat-chested side. So Jimmy had
the chin appear stronger by throwing a
heavy light on it, thus creating a heavy
shadow underneath. He took your at-
tention from her chest by focusing on
her eyes and lips. And then little James
Wong Howe played his camera ace: He
always has maintained that a woman
looks most seductive when she is wear-
ing a veil. He created the effect of a
veil by shadowing the forehead of Hedy
Lamarr and he says that it was this light-
ing effect which caused audiences to
murmur excitedly when she first appeared
on the screen.
If you doubt that Howe knows what he
is talking about, consider for a moment
that Hedy Lamarr, Ingrid Bergman, Lor-
etta Young all have weaknesses and ir-
regularities but EACH has full lips, elo-
quent eyes. Your reigning beauties all
have irregularities of features. Regard
Ann Sheridan's irregular nose and round
full face; Bette Davis's pop eyes, Dietrich's
broad nose; the broad forehead of Zorina
Look at yourself in the mirror and
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absolutely straight noses. They have a
tendency to curve to one side or the
other. If your face, then, were lighted
by a cameraman, from the SAME side as
the direction of the nose's curve, it would
accent the curvature. Ann Sheridan's
cute nose curves slightly toward the left
of her face. So in photographing her,
Jimmy would light the left side of her
face. Simple, huh?
So if you have a long nose, or a large
mouth, or eyes too big, they may turn
you into a very exciting creature. The
left side of Madeleine Carroll's face, for
instance, is much fuller than the right
side, but it adds to her appeal. Marlene
Dietrich's narrow face, plus a broad nose,
gives her that sexy slant. (Yes, I know.
She has legs, too). Ann Sheridan, when
she was making "Torrid Zone," showed
up one day on the set with a pimple near
her mouth. Howe covered it with a
beauty spot, thus drawing attention to
her mouth. A defect became an asset by
accentuating the negative and converting
it into the positive. Hubba-hubba!
If I seem to be suggesting here that
in Hollywood, beauty often owes a great
deal to lighting, that is right. In my time,
I've interviewed or talked or dined with
every girl on the five lists submitted by
Milland, Cotten, Bogart, Flynn and Van
Johnson with these exceptions— Dolores
Costello, Lauren Bacall, Mary Astor and
Toumanova— so I can speak with some
authority on how they look with and
s your marriage
because you don't know these intimate physical facts?
HOW THEY VOTED
Van Johnson
Humphrey
Norma Shearer
Bogart
Greta Garbo
Lauren Bacall
Greer Garson
Hedy Lamarr
Joan Crawford
Ingrid Bergman
Lana Turner
Dolores Del Rio
Gloria Swanson
Ina Claire
Katharine Hepburn
Greta Garbo
Marlene Dietrich
Billie Dove
Hedy Lamarr
Vilma Banky
Colleen Moore
Mary Astor
Danielle Darrieux
Errol Flynn
Joseph Cotten
Tamara Toumanova
Ingrid Bergman
Joan Crawford
Sally Blaine
Olivia DeHavilland
Virginia Bruce
Madeleine Carroll
Dolores Costello
Linda Darnell
Dolores Del Rio
Hedy Lamarr
Marlene Dietrich
Dolores Del Rio
Greta Garbo
Loretta Young
Hedy Lamarr
Virginia Bruce
Vivien Leigh
Maureen O'Hara
Loretta Young
Ray Milland
Fay Wray
Joan Fontaine
Olivia DeHavilland
Marlene Dietrich
Ingrid Bergman
Greta Garbo
Leila Hyams
Carole Lombard
Joan Crawford
Danielle
Darrieux
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without their warpaint. I have seen
Garbo repeatedly at close range.
Off the screen, the most gorgeous Hol-
lywood eyefuls, to my way of thinking,
are Greer Garson, Merle Oberon, Joan
Crawford, Lena Home, Ilona Massey,
Loretta Young, Gene Tierney and Virginia
Bruce. Ranking right up with them would
be Mary Howard, who played nothing but
supporting parts in Hollywood. More ar-
resting than any of them would be chic
Connie Bennett, who always gives the
impression that she just stepped from
a bandbox.
It is an interesting thing to me that
Humphrey Bogart, in listing his selections,
remembered Billy Dove and Vilma
Banky; that Joe Cotten remembered Do-
lores Costello, and that Van Johnson sur-
prisingly listed Gloria Swanson. Despite
the frightful make-up and" lighting to which
stars of an earlier era in Hollywood were
subjected, great beauties distinguished
the early Mack Sennett comedies and
other films. Olive Thomas, Anita Stewart,
Barbara Lamarr and Mary Pickford were
standouts. Mabel Normand was unfor-
gettable. Billy Dove, Dolores Costello
and Vilma Banky would not have to. yield
to any of the moderns.
Styles in beauty have, of course,
changed, just as styles in acting have im-
proved. I'll never forget Theda Bara, an
early heartbreaker, as she appeared in
"Cleopatra." In a costume composed large-
ly of beads, Miss Bara was a lush beauty,
lush in the sense that she was quite hippy.
In those days, women were unattractive
if they were not lavishly upholstered.
For instance, Lillian Russell today would
make ALL sweater girls run to cover with
her magnificent frontal displacement, but
she was built in proportion.
Just when streamlining came in, I don't
know, but I have a hunch that it must have
been just about the time that Marlene
Dietrich draped her leg Carelessly (?)
over a chair in "Blue Angel" and sang the
song that forever after was to be associated
with her husky, -sexy voice. Previously,
legs had been ignored in polite conversa-
tion. True, the movie producers had crept
up on the interesting subject by engaging
shapely Annette Kellerman to splash for
them, and grand opera had sneaked around
the taboo by casting shapely girl singers
as pages, but Dietrich brought legs to
flower, Bud! The silk stocking manufac-
turers should kneel on their unshapely
legs every night and say a prayer of ap-
preciation for Dietrich.
Just how Van Johnson remembered
Gloria Swanson and Colleen Moore, I do
not know. I thought he was too young to
share those memories with us. In fact,
Van's selections altogether are disconcert-
ing. I thought he'd pick June Allyson,
Gloria De Haven, June Havoc, Shirley
Temple, Jacqueline Dalya, Joan Caulfield,
Ginny Simms, Jayne Reynolds, Lauren
Bacall and other slick chicks of the jive
groove, but outside of Lana Turner, he was
quite sober in his picks. Apparently
Johnson likes them serious.
Of the First Ten, selected by the heroes,
it is interesting to note that not one of
them is a new star. Hedy Lamarr, Garbo,
Ingrid Bergman, Dietrich, Joan Crawford,
Dolores Del Rio, Loretta Young, Virginia
Bruce, Danielle Darrieux and Olivia de
Havilland are not of the current school of
young femmes now coming to the screen.
Six of them incidentally, are foreign born,
and to underscore the idea, three of the
six foreign-born actresses, Lamarr, Garbo
and Bergman ran 1-2-3. Sweden, placing
two out of the first three, proves that it
can produce something extra-special in.
addition to its Gunder Haggs. Most Amer-
ican-looking of the entire First Ten, of
course, is Ingrid Bergman.
Says
Anita Ellis
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(Continued from page 34)
My family won't allow me to have dates so
I have token to having them behind their backs.
Maybe I'm a sissy, but somehow dishonesty goes
against the grain with me. What should I do?
W. B., Brooklyn, N. Y.
It kills half the fun zvhcn your night work
must all be under cover, doesn't it? You're
very right in wanting things aboveboard.
Assuming that you've reached the age of
dating, th: only thing to do is to place the
matter squarely up to the family. Tell them
that you're the only girl in your crowd who
isn't allowed to go out. Explain to them
that they have given yon high standards and
that volt haven't the' least interest in going
but with undesirable or shady characters.
Let them know that you want to bring the
boys to your home for parental inspection,
and that you're eager to co-operate with them
on questions of curfew, number of dates a
week, etc. Let them know that you don't
approve of girls meeting beaux around the
corner, but that that is one solution if they
aren't permitted to invite them to their homes.
We feel sure that you can reach a satisfactory
compromise, if only you keep your temper
and appeal to their logic.
I am in my last year in high school and a
total flop with the guys. Is it too late to perk
up and be a success? Helen, Cranford, N. J.
Nope, not if you really work at it hard.
We'd suggest that you look over our Super
Coupon on page 32, and send for whatever
charts you need. When you've got your face
and figure where you want them, you'll find
vourself increasing in poise, developing
charm. You'll catch yourself smiling at boys
you were terrified of before, speaking to
them as unselfconsciously as if they were
vour buddies. Along about that point, launch
yourself via a really spiff y party. Maybe
a bicycle picnic to a nearby brook. The kids
all meet at your house to pick up directions
and their share of the lush food. Some-
body's got a portable radio. You stick in a
batch of funnies, a pack of cards, a soft-
ball and bat. The party's terrific and so are
you. You're made! It's as easy as that.
Start promoting you today.
We live near a Navy base and are forever
being asked on blind dates. How do you start
talk going on one of these? My mind goes a
blank. M. W., South Norwalk, Conn.
The old obvious things are usually best
to kindle conversation. Where do you come
from? What's it like there? Do you
have a big family? What would you be
doing if you weren't in the Navy? They're
trite but comfortable, and once your tongues
are unloosed you'll find endless things to
talk about. Just relax and don't jabber.
Don't feel impelled to fill every silence. If
vour mind should go blank, try a good
warm smile. That says a whole lot.
If you've just plain fallen out of love with a
boy who still loves you, how do you let him
down without too much of a thud? He's not
overseas or anything. Just a senior at my
school. B. K., Srosse Point, Mich.
The big thing to be considered is the lad's
pride. When you hand him the _ big news,
do it' in such a way as to let him feel it's
by mutual consent. "Don't you think we
both need' a change of scene?" is one angle.
Then there's "Every gal in school would be
in heaven if you were back in circulation.
Don't you think it would be kind of a smart
idea to cut ourselves adrift for awhile?"
He'll get the picture and love you (in a nice
Platonic way) for your tact in handling a
tricky business.
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(Continued from page 34)
back he probably won't give a hoot about see-
ing any of them? He won't care beans for any-
body but a character named Joe who worked
on the plane next to his in England or for a
battered-looking chief from his LST. No matter
how actively you dislike his new buddies, don't
tell him, for right now they are dearer to him
almost than you are. When he resumes a
normal way of life, he will ease back into your
warm, close circle of friends. They'll love
him again. Just don't push it before he's ready.
If the lad you're welcoming back is a husband
or sweetheart, be prepared for flashes of jeal-
ousy that are as new to him as all that fruit
salad he wears over his heart. He'll think you
were giving Bob the old business. That you
danced too long with Bill. It will make you
perfectly furious, but bear with him. It's part
of his emotional readjustment. He needs such
reassurance of your love for him. Give it to
him constantly, and leave all coy, hard-to-get
tactics alone until he can cope with them.
If your man should come home handicapped,
you must be so terribly careful not to show any
pity or revulsion. Make him know that you love
him every bit as much with one arm as with two,
with a scarred face as with his glamour puss.
(It has been suggested that squeamish wives
try to work in veterans' hospitals among men
with the same injury as their husbands. That
way they will accustom themselves to the sight
of it and be far better able to withstand
the shock of seeing their wounded husbands.)
Discuss his trouble with him unemotionally.
Help him get the necessary medical atttention
and vocational guidance. Accept the handi-
cap, whatever it may be, and instead of brood-
ing about it and making him bitter and self-
pitying, help him to build a full, useful and
happy life for himself. And for all the
wounded veterans we're going to see: Don't
stare at them. Don't whisper about them.
Don't ask them how it happened. Don't say
you're sorry. The more casual we are toward
them the less odd they will feel and the
happier they will be. This is their world; let's
help them be at home in it.
Friend Al:
Happy birthday from the Paynes. Re-
member us? We met at a party given for
you, so we owe you a happy birthday.
We send our sincerest good wishes. I've
been following the book for a number of
years, and I like the way you handle
Hollywood and her citizens. It's always
been my contention that, under the so-
called glamor, Hollywood's no different
from other American towns. People, by
and large, are the same the world over.
That seems to be Modern Screen's idea,
too. I like the way you feature the human
angle. No misleading headlines. No sensa-
tionalism. Things go wrong and people
blunder out here, as they do in Podunk.
You don't blow the blunders up out of all
proportion to the truth. You seem more
interested in the essentials. You show peo-
ple living their lives,, working, relaxing,
caring for their families, doing all they can
to guard the good things of this country
that everyone's fighting for. Keep it up.
Yours in appreciation,
John Payne
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CLARK GABLE
(Continued from page 64)
kind whose love took the form of endear-
ments. Hugging, kissing, would have em-
barrassed them. Their feeling expressed
itself in other ways.
The little boy stood at the window of
the big warm kitchen, watching the snow
fall, smelling the tomato ketchup Grand-
mother cooked over the wood stove. Sud-
denly he cried out, "The chicken! Granny,
the poor chicken!" Across the snow the
poor chicken stumbled, battling foolishly,
feebly with the gale. Grandmother caught
up a heavy shawl, ran out and rescued it,
laid it gently in a box near the stove.
Clark stroked the wet feathers, smiled up
at Grandmother, who was smiling back.
Her face was beautiful. The child's heart
swelled with love for the goodness of
his Granny.
another mom . . .
Then his father married again. It was
hard for the boy to leave his grandparents,
still harder for them. But to their clear
way of thinking, it was right that he
should go to his father— as it had been
right that they should give him shelter
when it was needed.
The new home was at Hopedale, ten
miles from Cadiz, where he was born. The
new mother was all a mother should be —
gentle and kind and one who understood
boys. Here there were children to play
with and, a little later, school. School was
good because it brought games and com-
panionship. But without books, it would
have been still better. He was no student.
At eight he fell in love and remained
true to his love for five long years. She
was small and dainty, with soft brown
eyes and hair, and her name was Treela.
Instead of fishing on Sunday, he went to
Sunday school because Treela was there.
The boys called him Sissy, yet he went—
even then his own master, bent on living
his own way. As they all grew older and
had little parties, he and Treela refused
to play kissing games. To kiss each other
in public was to spoil something, and by
no means would they kiss anyone else.
For the rest, he played baseball, tooted
a horn in the school band, and spent sum-
mers caring for the horses on his grand-
father Gable's farm. Meantime, his father,
having turned from farming to the oil-
• fields, turned back to farming again. They
moved to Ravenna, sixty miles away. This
meant farewell to Treela. The girl cried,
the boy tried not to. It was many years
before they met again. Treela was mar-
ried, the mother of two pretty children.
But through all the years she remained
a fragrant memory to Clark.
He was fifteen and restless, bored with
high school, tired of forking hay and feed-
ing hogs. "Let's go to Akron," said his
friend, Andy Means.
"I want to go to Akron," Clark told his
father.
"To do what?"
"Work. Study medicine, nights."
"You're too young to be turned loose
in a big town."
He knew better than to argue with his
father But he also knew that where he
would fail, his stepmother might succeed.
He took his problem to her, and somehow
she gained his father's consent. I have
already said that she understood boys. Her
parting gift was a razor, which enchanted
Clark.
"I know you don't need it yet, son, but
you will before long. And if you ever
get tired of being away, remember we'll
be waiting for you."
In Akron the boys went to work, mold-
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Every evening Clark attended pre-medical
courses at the University. . He was quite in
earnest about meaning to be a doctor.
"Principally," he explained to Andy, "be-
cause if I'm a doctor, I won't have to
be a farmer — "
Had medicine been the goal of his dear-
est hopes, he would have stuck to medi-
cine. It was merely a stopgap, an excuse
to escape from the farm. There was noth-
ing he had a burning desire to be. . . .
Till he saw his first play.
Sunday was his one free evening. Down
at the Music Hall, the Clark-Lilly Players
were giving "Bird of Paradise." Andy and
some of the other boys were going. Clark
went along. Stepping into the theater
changed the course of his life.
He could never explain what happened
to him that night. A farm boy, his back-
ground and heritage alien to all the stage
represented, he left the theater resolved
to be an actor. Forgotten the medicine,
forgotten the rubber factory. Each night
he sat in the gallery, each day he hung
round the stage door, and finally plucked
up the heart to walk in.
"I want a job," he told the manager.
"Any job."
The manager knew how to deal with
stage-struck youngsters. "We need a call
boy, but we can't pay you anything. You
can sleep backstage."
Clark felt this was just. Why should he
be paid for admission to paradise? He was
a good call boy. His players were all out
front on time, even if he had to sew
on their buttons for them. In return for
these and other small services, they took
care that he ate.
Back in Ravenna his father said: "The
boy's gone crazy." But at such a distance,
there was little he could do about it.
Clark was even beginning to do walk-ons
when the wire came, calling him home.
His stepmother was dying. He arrived
barely in time to see her. He had loved
her deeply. For the first time, he knew
the desolation of a loss that cannot be
measured. '
The elder Gable had had enough of
farming, enough of this place of sorrows.
Always he had preferred the oil fields to
ploughing. Now there was an oil boom in
Oklahoma. He and Clark would go there.
Clark said, "I want to go back to the
theater." But there was no longer one
who could speak for him, and this time
the father had his way. The boy went to
the oil fields.
the cross roads . . .
For two years he worked as a tool
dresser, earning twelve dollars a day.
Earning nothing a day in the theater, he
had been happier. One night, in the shack
he shared with his father, the end came.
"I'm quitting," said Clark.
His father's opposition broke against
rock. He was nineteen now — a man, with
a man's will. At length, the other recog-
nized defeat.
"If you want to throw your life away,
I guess I can't stop you."
They parted grimly — one to return to
the oil fields, the other to start on his
unknown road.
Thus came the wandering years.
Kansas City and a third-rate road show.
Traveling through the Middle West on
ten dollars a week. Stranded in Butte,
Montana, and a moment that might have
meant surrender. Heartsick, all but pen-
niless, he entered a telegraph office, com-
posed a wire asking his father for train
money back to Oklahoma. For a moment
he stared at it, then crumpled and tossed it
into the wastebasket. Wandered through
the streets, made for the depot, hopped a
freight train to Portland. Portland, he'd
heard, was a good show town.
Her own fault — if she'd check her
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CRO*PHX
First, he must have money. Leaving the
freight car at Bend, he worked for three
months as a lumberjack. At first his palms
bled constantly — to the scorn of his part-
ner, a big silent Swede. "Ay tank you bane
verkin' inside too much," said his partner.
In three months, it was the only obser-
vation he made.
Portland. Selling neckties in a depart-
ment store. Meeting Earle Larimore, then
a fellow salesman. Joining his Little
Theater Group and working with them
to organize a professional company. Open-
ing in Astoria, a hundred miles north. In
the first play, Clark was a Negro cook.
In another, a seaman. In a third, a huge
baby in a huge crib. Plenty of fun, but
no money. The drama held no appeal for
fishermen. On milkboats, they worked
their way back to Portland
One of the group was a pretty girl
named Franz Doerfler. She and Clark fell
in love. He asked her to marry him, but
Franz was afraid. What would they live
on? He spent a few weeks with her
family on their ranch near Portland — a
few idyllic weeks, running around in over-
alls with Franz, forgetting his troubles.
The girl's pet name for Clark was Big
Calf, because of his ears. Later, Spencer
Tracy was to call him The Moose for the
same reason.
He worked in the hop fields, he worked
on a logging road and — again — in a lum-
ber camp. Again with a Swede. Clark
had no luck with Swedes. One day Ole
said, "Dis fella too dumb for work wit'
me," and walked out.
Money saved again. Back to Portland.
Back to the endless hunt for a place in
the theater. Knocking at every door till
his money gave out. Then a job in the
want-ad department of a morning paper.
There might come an ad for work round
a theater. If so, Clark would see it first.
No such ad came. The indoor life was
too much for him. So when the telephone
company wanted a lineman, Clark put the
ad in his pocket and applied and went to
work, never guessing that the telephone
line would lead straight to his heart's
desire.
What was destined to happen didn't
happen for a year.
telephone for a ticket . . .
Miss Josephine Dillon of Los Angeles,
dramatic coach, came to Portland to start
a Little Theater. A telephone wire in her
theater broke down. She called the com-
pany. They sent Clark to mend it.
Before he left, Miss Dillon had heard
his story and had offered to help. At
first, her interest was wholly professional.
She saw Clark's possibilities. She taught
him stage presence, how to walk and sit
and use his hands. She read plays with
him. For the first time, his floundering
efforts were being directed by someone
who understood and she found him an
eager, appreciative pupil. Through her in-
fluence, he joined the Forest Taylor Stock
Company. But by now they were more
than teacher and pupil. When Josephine
returned to Los Angeles, Portland ceased
to hold much charm for Clark. He fol-
lowed. On December 13, 1924, they were
married.
It was the end of lumber camps, but
far from the end of struggle. They lived in
a bungalow, their rent twenty dollars a
month. To begin with, Clark tried the
studios. In the tight suit of a grenadier,
carrying a sword, he made his first ap-
pearance before the cameras in a Lubitsch
picture. Mr. Lubitsch did not cry "The
great Gable!" Mr. Lubitsch took one look
at the grenadier and passed on.
A day's work here and there. Soon
Clark felt sure that the movies were not
for him. He began to think of New York,
where plays were produced. But for New
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York, again one needs money. Louis Mac-
Loon was about to present Jane Cowl to
Los Angeles in "Romeo and Juliet." The
call went out for tall men to play the
guards of Verona. Being six foot one,
Gable was hired. Through the twelve-
week run, MacLoon watched him. He was
getting ready to produce "What Price
Glory?" One of the characters, Sgt. Kiper,
was described as lean and hungry-looking.
Clark was lean and hungry-looking. The
producer offered him the job.
His first speaking part on a professional
stage. That was fine enough. Yet finer
things were to come. MacLoon proved his
good angel. When Sgt. Quirt gave notice,
he said, "Like to play it, Clark?" All
through Clark's opening performance, he
stood in the wings, coaching, encouraging.
When the curtain fell, he said: "You'll do,
my boy."
Gable stayed with him till the end of the
season, appearing in six plays. One was
"The Copperhead," with Lionel Barry-
more. Like Josephine Dillon, Barrymore
found qualities in Gable that promised
well. The two became friends — a friend-
ship that was to bear fruit.
Meantime Clark took a job as second
lead with a Texas company. Again the
leading man left, again the newcomer
stepped in. Earning two hundred a week,
he saved most of it. Then back to Los
Angeles to seek MacLoon's advice —
"What do you think of my going to New
York?"
•"I don't have to think. Go while you've
still got money in your jeans. Or you'll
never get there — "
Josephine went with him. They'd been
married almost four years, not too success-
fully. For months they'd been drifting
farther and farther apart. This was to be
their final try together. It didn't work out.
Early in '29, Clark's wife returned to Los
Angeles and filed suit for divorce.
To Arthur Hopkins, he presented a let-
Dear Mr. Delacorte:
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I really meant to write long ago about
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ter of introduction from MacLoon. He
made no effort to impress Mr. Hopkins.
With complete candor, he unfolded his
odyssey, including the milkboats. The
producer cast him as the Young Man in
"Machinal." He might have done worse.
"Young, vigorous and brutally masculine,"
said one paper. "Plays the casual, good-
humored lover without a hackneyed ges-
ture," said another.
Hollywood bound . . .
Play followed play. In none did he
create a sensation, but work came without
too much difficulty. He liked New York
and had ceased to give the movies a
thought. Had the offer from MacLoon
come at another time, he might have
refused it. But in May, the New York
season was over. "Will you come out to
play Killer Mears in 'The Last Mile?"'
MacLoon had wired. A fine part in a fine
play. And he owed MacLoon a lot. . . .
He owed MacLoon still more when the
curtain fell on opening night. The audi-
ence had cheered. The Hollywood which
had ignored him now sang his praises. All
the studios wanted to test him. But by
virtue of their friendship, Lionel Barry-
more's claim came first. He took his
brother, John, back to Clark's dressing
room.
"Young man," said John, "you're going
far."
Lionel shook his head. "You're wrong,
John. He's already there."
Not quite.
Barrymore took him to Irving Thalberg.
"I want to test him as a native for 'Bird
of Paradise.' " By an odd coincidence, the
first play Clark had ever seen.
Thalberg looked him over — the ears, the
shoulders, the toughness. Enthusiasm was
lacking, but he said all right.
They took him to make-up. They smeared
him dark all over. They curled his hair,
dressed him in a G-string, stuck a hibiscus
behind his ear. Never had he felt such a
fool. Barrymore showed the test to Thal-
berg. Thalberg, a man of great self-
possession, lost his composure. "Not that,
not that!" he groaned. "Take it away!"
Clark, for one, didn't blame him.
Other tests were made by Warners and
Universal. No good. His ears stuck out.
He looked lumpy. He was all over
knuckles.
Once more he prepared to shake the
dust of Hollywood. In New York Al
Woods wanted him for a part in "Farewell
to Arms." He was packing when an agent
called. "Come on out to Pathe. Come
running — "
At Pathe they said: "It's a Western.
Do you ride?"
"Sure—"
"That's fine. We'll pay you seven-
fifty-"
Seven-fifty! Today they were paying
extras more. He opened his mouth to
protest, but the agent nudged him. Out-
side, Clark asked, "What's this seven-
fifty business?"
"Seven hundred and fifty bucks a
week — "
Clark whistled. "For that I ought to
know how to ride — "
"You mean you don't?"
"Haven't been on a horse since I was
a kid. But I'll learn—"
gangster gable . . .
"The Painted Desert" didn't start for
five weeks. When it did, Clark could ride.
Also he made an impression as the heavy.
An impression so good that M-G-M for-
gave the hibiscus and signed him as the
heavy in "The Easiest Way." But not yet
did the women claim him as their own.
Not till one woman — Joan Crawford —
asked that he be cast as the gangster in
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"Dance, Fools, Dance." That was when it
began — a small but persistent chorus that
swelled into full power with "A Free
Soul."
M-G-M was having a hard time, finding
this gangster to play opposite Norma
Shearer. He must be a combination of
villainy and charm, a thoroughly bad man
who could yet turn the head of a girl of
gentle breeding. It was offered to many
well-known actors and turned down. "Too
small," they said, "and too unsympa-
thetic—"
As Clarence Brown, the director, lunched
in the commissary one noon, a tall young
man entered — a young man who carried
his broad shoulders easily, whose blue
eyes held the look of far spaces, who
smiled with a touch of ironic humor —
"Do you know that fellow?" Brown
asked his companion.
"His name's Gable. We have him under
contract."
"Ask him to come over."
He took Clark to Hunt Stromberg, the
producer, who approved his choice. With
the actor, Mr. Stromberg was frank.
"You're getting it because nobody else'll
touch it. But I'll make a prediction. When
it's over, you'll be a star — "
The prediction came true. Norma
Shearer explained why. "No matter how
despicable he was, the sympathy went his
way. You couldn't help liking him." The
unpleasantness belonged to the character,
the tough masculinity was Gable's own.
It triumphed over the implications of the
role. M-G-M wisely let the women have
their way. Gable the heavy became Gable
the hero.
There is little point in detailing his tri-
umphal march— from "Susan Lennox" with
Garbo through "Dancing Lady" to another
landmark— "It Happened One Night,"
which brought him an Oscar and a repu-
tation for light comedy. From "Mutiny on
the Bounty" through "Test Pilot" to "Gone
With the Wind" — because movie goers
would hear of no other Rhett Butler. All
this, with no diminution of popularity. For
eight consecutive years among the big
box office ten. For five of those years,
second only to Will Rogers or Shirley
Temple.
In 1940, M-G-M destroyed his unma-
tured contract, and signed him to a new
one. Seven years without options, at a
figure that would bring him a fortune,
whatever Uncle Sam took. On the studio's
part, it was a declaration of faith in his
long-term hold on the public. Holding the
pen, Clark felt slightly ill at ease— as he
always feels on formal occasions. He
sought to lighten the moment. "How'm I
doin'?" he grinned.
From the farmlands of Ohio, from the
oil fields of Oklahoma, from the northern
lumber camps to this. Through poverty
and failure, through hopes that had
crashed and disappointments that had
multiplied. Knocked down a hundred
times, picking himself up, starting out
again. A shabby little theater in Akron
had given him the vision. In himself, he
had found the strength. He was doing all
right.
In 1931 he had married Rhea Langham,
whom he met while playing in "The Last
Mile." Four years later they separated.
Much has been written on the subject
of his two broken marriages. Much that
has hinted at a lack in Gable. My feeling
leads me to other conclusions. ...
mistaken love . . .
In spite of his early economic self-
reliance, in spite of his years of roving,
my feeling is that the young Clark under-
stood little of women. Himself uncom-
plicated, not given to self-searching,
neither did he try to analyze feminine
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psychology. At 23, he married Josephine
Dillon— an older woman, opening vistas on
a new way of life.
In a way. the situation repeated itself.
Rhea Langham too, was older than Clark,
mother of two children. She too, showed
him a new way of life. Poised, sophisti-
cated, with a Park Avenue background,
she moved in a circle of brilliance, gayety
and wit. There can be no question but
that Clark was dazzled— by her charm, by
the difference between her and any other
woman he'd met.
Through the frictions of his second mar-
riage, he learned to know himself. The
first suspicion of basic differences stunned
him. In '32 they separated briefly but
were reconciled. Clark fought for this
marriage. He tried hard and honestly to
fit himself into the rigid pattern of that
social existence which was natural to his
wife.
But finally, he learned to know the kind
of man he was. A man who had to be him-
self, who could fit into nobody's pattern. To
whom money and social standards meant
nothing.
This life was not Rhea's life, which
was no reflection on either. He didn't
expect her to change. Nor could he change
himself. So they parted. He took a suite
at the Beverly -Wilshire, with none to
question his comings and goings. Shortly
thereafter, he left on a 25000-mile tour of
South America.
In 1933 Clark and Carole Lombard made
a picture together — "No Bed of Her Own."
People say they didn't get along too well.
In 1936 they met at the Mayfair Ball.
She was with Cesar Romero. He arrived
late. He promised himself to dance one
dance and leave. That dance was with
Carole Lombard, and he didn't leave. They
danced again, and again. The room was
crowded. But for these two, it might have
been an island where they were alone.
So began their love. Not till three years
later were they to marry. For this, there
were several reasons. . . .
From the beginning, Carole made no
secret of her feeling. She too, had tried
marriage and failed. But on her, the
failure had left no scar. As surely as
if an angel had pointed him out, she knew
that Clark was her man,*. . .
With him, it was different. Every in-
stinct drew him toward this honest, gay-
hearted girl, and yet he was afraid — the
burnt child, dreading the flame. How
could he know? Twice before he had
thought himself in love. Twice the end
had been disenchantment. Despite two mis-
takes, he was no man to step easily in and
out of marriage. Resolved on freedom to
be himself, he longed for anchorage, too —
in the warmth of home, the comradeship
of laughter, the blessing of love. Perhaps
all this was too much to expect. . . .
Especially from Carole. Carole was a
party girl — a restless seeker of excitement,
living in a whirl of night clubs and hilar-
ity. The last girl in the world from
whom you'd expect peace.
Yet all this was camouflage over a spirit
which itself sought peace. She found it
in Gable, like a lost child come home. He
was her world and the rest dropped away.
And at last Clark realized that the
miracle had happened. Knowing himself
at last, he knew that he'd reached emo-
tional maturity, that this was the love
all men wait for and few achieve. . . .
One obstacle remained. Legally, Rhea
Langham was still Mrs. Gable. However,
her only reason for not giving Clark a
divorce was a simple one — he'd never
asked for it. Now he paid $286,000 plus
taxes for a release and in March of '39, he
was free to marry. . . .
On a March day in '39, a car drove
through the streets of Kingman, Arizona.
It stopped at the parsonage where Carole
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E WORLD'S HOST ROMANTIC SCEN
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and Clark stepped out — as well as Otto
Winkler, their friend of the M-G-M pub-
licity department.
The parson was out, calling on a sick
parishioner. His wife asked them to wait.
Side by side on a sofa in the little parlor
they sat till the parson arrived. . . .
"Miss Lombard and Mr. Gable are here,"
said his wife. "They'd like to be
married — "
There was no time for a honeymoon,
not then. When Clark's picture was fin-
ished, they started for New York. But in
a Mexican auto camp they were side-
tracked. What matter that theaters and
gayety waited? Here they tramped around
all day in slacks and jeans, here the coun-
try was beautiful, nobody bothered them.
Day after day they stayed, till the weeks
of their holiday were gone, and they drove
contentedly home.
It was an idyl that lasted not quite three
years.
Out in the valley lay a ranch, for which
Clark had hungered. It belonged to Raoul
Walsh, the director. Clark was crazy to
buy it. "And Walsh," he grinned, "would
be crazy to sell it."
But one day a real estate agent called
Carole. He told her the Walsh place was
for sale. She called M-G-M. Clark was in
the midst of a scene. "I'll hang on," she
said, "if it takes all night. Because if he
hears this from someone else, I'll do
murder."
When he came, she said, "You still want
the Walsh ranch, Pappy?"
He said, "If this is a gag—"
"It's no gag, it's for sale—"
They bought it that day, trading in an-
other place as part payment.
There, in the house of shingles and
whitewashed brick, they found happiness
as complete as it's given anyone in this
world to know. There Carole made for
Clark the home that was not a showplace,
where dogs were welcome, where mud on
the feet was no tragedy. A home of friend-
liness, of chintz and maple, sunshine and
flowers and open hearths — a home for
living. And the fields outdoors, where
Clark worked with the hired man. Horses
to ride, and chickens that Carole took care
of. Carole, darling of the night clubs,
learned about tractors and irrigation
ditches and alfalfa. She learned to hunt
and fish. She refused to make pictures
when he wasn't working. Once, asked for
his favorite type of girl, he answered, "A
girl who likes my type of man. If I come
home Friday, and say, let's grab a few
clothes and dig out for the week end, my
kind of girl will say fine, and mean it."
Clark had found his kind of girl.
December 7, 1941. Bombs crashed on
Pearl Harbor.
December 8. America was at war.
In January, the Treasury geared its
forces to a huge bond drive. Carole's home
town was Indianapolis. Carole's person-
ality was electric, compelling. Her pres-
ence at rallies would sell more bonds.
They asked her to go to Indianapolis.
So one day she left the beloved home
at Encino. Clark drove her to the train.
They stopped for her mother, who was
going along to see old friends. At the
station, Otto Winkler waited — the same
Otto who had been their marriage witness.
He would handle details of the trip, of the
speaking engagement.
There were pictures of Carole in In-
dianapolis— a slender, fair-haired young
woman, wrapped in furs against the cold of
outdoors, vital, aflame, conveying the pas-
sion of her convictions to her countrymen.
Ten days of unflagging labor. Then, with
the knowledge of a job well done, with the
sale of millions of bonds credited to her
efforts, she turned her face toward home.
The story goes that a coin was flipped:
Heads, they would take the train — tails,
became
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the plane. The story goes that Carole wc.-.
pleased when it turned up heads. The
plane would get them in on Friday, and
she would have Sunday with Clark who
had just begun working in "Somewhere
I'll Find You." When he worked, Sundays
were doubly precious
So came the last day of her life. At the
airport he waited with a friend. First, they
were told that the plane would be an hour
late — then, that it had been grounded at
Las Vegas. Clark grew uneasy, but his
friend persuaded him to go home, since
Carole might be trying to get him there.
He himself would call Las Vegas for in-
formation. As he stepped into the phone
booth, the news came in.
It was Eddie Mannix who had to go
out and tell Clark. Not that Carole was
dead. He couldn't face the man who loved
her and push the dreadful words across
his lips. There had been an accident, he
said, no details had come through. They
would fly to Las Vegas.
Clark spoke no word, asked no ques-
tions, moved with unseeing eyes. From the
car to the airport, from the airport to the
chartered plane. The blue eyes were blank,
looking inward on chaos. At Las Vegas they
still said they didn't know. The plane had
crashed. Searchers had gone out. Some
in the plane might be alive.
None were alive. The bodies were
brought down. By war regulations, Army
personnel first. Women next. Carole and
her mother. Clark refused to leave till
Otto had been found. The day after Carole
and her mother were buried, he sat
through the services for Otto, beside Otto's
wife. Then he collapsed.
Not for weeks did he mention Carole's
name. The first person he spoke it to
was his father. . . .
For Clark it had been a major achieve-
ment to get his father to Hollywood.
Being a normal parent, he was enormously
proud of his son. Being himself, he never
admitted in words that Clark had done
.vw-vw.w.v.--
Dear Editors:
Thought you'd like to know I ran into
a pal of yours overseas. Name of Modern
Screen. Passed a table in one of the recre-
ation rooms, and there she perched, big
as life and just' about as battered. Looked
like she'd been cased by every guy in the
joint. I leafed through her myself for a
squint at the old familiar faces. Some were
scissored out — promoted to pin-ups, no
doubt — and I'm sure you'll agree that it
was a promotion.
Made some inquiries, and found that
you print a special overseas edition. Met a
fellow who used to be in your game him-
self, and he gave me the fine points. "No
ads," he said. "That's smart. Because lip-
sticks we don't need, and perfume we can
get along without. Also notice it's full size,
so we get full benefit of the glamor art.
Hollywood's important here, Bing. It's
gotta be, or these books wouldn't get
precious space in planes. Sure, they're
flown out to bomber bases, and distributed
from there — "
Made me feel kind of good, so I'm pass-
ing it on. By the time your next birthday
rolls around, hope the boys'll be reading
your domestic edition.
Yours,
Bing
V.W.WAW.VMNWM'.V.V.
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well to become an actor.
After Carole's death, the older man took
to coming over for breakfast. For the rest,
he left his son to himself. He too, had
known what it was to lose a young wife.
A man must find his way through agony
alone.
out from the shadows . . .
Little by little, Clark moved from under
the shadows back to life. First, he finished
the interrupted picture to which his studio
was committed. On August 11, 1942, he
enlisted as a private in the Army Air
Force. Found qualified for OCS, he start-
ed the rigorous training at 41 among men
who were fifteen and twenty years his
junior. In a class of 2600, he finished gun-
nery school No. 700. By the time he was
shipped to England, he'd earned his Cap-
taincy.
As gunner and operational photog-
rapher, his job was to take action pictures
over enemy territory, and from those pic-
tures to make a training film. His other
job was to man a gun and shoot at attack-
ing planes. Next to being under fire, his
greatest discomfort was the publicity he
couldn't always avoid. What he wanted
most was to do a good job. What he
wanted almost as much was to be left
alone — not to be singled out because
once upon a time he'd been a movie
actor.
A year later he returned with campaign
ribbons, the Air Medal for his combat
missions and 50,000 feet of film. A press
conference in Washington. A hundred re-
porters and one uneasy Air Corps Captain.
Yes, he'd shot at many German planes.
No, he didn't think he'd hit any. Yes, he'd
been a little scared. Yes, his own plane
had been hit, but nothing out of the
ordinary.
Then someone asked for a fifty-word
tribute to the men he'd fought with.
He answered quietly. "That's something
I couldn't put into words — "
He spent almost a year on his picture.
It's called "Combat America." Originally,
it was meant for the Armed Forces only.
Because of its excellence, the government
will give it general release.
Late in '44, Captain Gable was placed
on inactive duty. For obvious reasons.
Flights at 20,000 feet are hard on the sys-
tem even of youngsters, and after a year
on the ground, he was out of training.
Rather than keep him on minor assign-
ments, the AAF felt he could be of greater
service in the movies, rated essential to
soldier and civilian morale. Clark didn't
like it, but the choice wasn't offered him.
On one point he had his way. No dis-
charge. He's still a member of the AAF,
subject to recall, should he be needed.
Once out of uniform, he went to Ore-
gon on a two-months' fishing trip. Then
to Florida and New York. At M-G-M,
his first picture was in preparation:
"Strange Adventure," in which Clark will
play a Marine on furlough. If the schedule
holds, he will be at work when you read
this.
The movies didn't make Gable. He was
fashioned by the land he was born on
and the people he came from, by the
dragons he vanguished and the dream he
followed. Through such adulation as few
have known, he has kept the simplicity
of his forbears. Through tragedy, he has
gained new strength. Through the com-
radeship and service of battle, he has
found meanings in life beyond the per-
sonal. Through all the tests by which we
are measured, he has been weighed in
the balance and found not wanting. The
rest doesn't matter.
He would laugh at all this. "Too many
words, and they're all too long."
So let us put an end to words. Let this
story of an American speak for itself.
hmenca
Lnesi
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HEDDA HOPPER'S MEMOIRS
(Continued from page 57)
where he'd come from. But no, into the
scene he went, like a lamb to the butcher.
Of course it was impossible. Might as
well have asked Shirley Temple, ten years
ago, to make sophisticated love to Charles
Boyer. Gary was all hands, all feet, all
blushes, all stammers. And did Clara
turn on the heat as only the "It" Girl
could! I thought Gary would shrivel down
to a strip of crisp bacon. But he sweated
it out. The next day, though, there wasn't
any leading man. Gary was gone, va-
moosed, AWOL. He wasn't home, either.
He had run away like a stampeded steer
and he was still running when they caught
up with him, in a tiny hotel room some-
where in California. And when Gary did
come back, he was the same as ever,
scared out of his skin, but this time Clara
Bow relaxed and tried to make it easy —
gosh, the whole company did — and some-
how Gary got through his first romantic
job and was off to the races.
lanky lover . . .
Because, while as an actor, frankly he
smelled like a skunk in a trunk, there was
something in the big, gawky, handsome
man's man that made women swoon, the
same something there is today, only it's
been polished up, matured, mellowed.
Crazily enough, Hollywood romance did
that, too — not the set kind, but the real
kind. The cowboy kinks were ironed out
of Gary by a dozen willing teachers, but
of them all I seem to remember Lupe Ve-
lez best. Dear Lupe — what a beauty she
was when Doug Fairbanks first brought
her up from Mexico to play his leading
lady in "The Gaucho," if I remember right.
Now she is dead, tragically dead through
a romantic mess that somehow still doesn't
make sense to me. Because if anybody
ever brimmed with life and the love of life
it was Guadalupe Velez Villalobos. Gary
fell for the charming little Mexican early
in his Hollywood career and she kidded
him out of his pathetic shyness, made him
laugh and lured him out of his back coun-
try reserve like no one else could. I can
still hear her loosing a torrent of Spanish
at the happily bewildered guy. Because
when Lupe was in love you could hear her
a country mile. When she yelled "Gay-
ree!" it was certainly the noisiest sweet
nothing ever voiced, but one of the nicest,
too.
Gary would do the darndest things for
her. I remember one time he gave her
an eagle — a real live one, and naturally
she loved it. But also naturally she had
an objection.
"Wat good ees wan eagle?" screamed
Lupe. " 'E must 'ave ees mate. Get 'eem
a mate for me, Gayree!"
I'm not going into the education of
Gary Cooper here — that's a story in itself
and some day, because he's one of my
favorite people, I might break down and
write it. After he broke up with Lupe he
ran away from Hollywood again, this time
as far away as he could get. Typically
Cooper, he went down to a steamship
office and asked bluntly, "What's the
longest boat trip you can take?" They
told him Italy via the Panama Canal
would be fair and that's where he went.
In Italy he met Dorothy, Countess Di
Frasso, and she put him through the school
of fashion and society and the haut monde
of two worlds. Then he fell in love with
Veronica Balfe, the Eastern society girl
who's his wife, the "Rocky" Cooper we
know today, and they're very happy and
very much in love, and, like I say, on the
outside you'd never, never know that Gary
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Cooper, world traveler, famous star, man
of the world and solid citizen, was once a
gangling wide-eyed cow waddy from Mon-
tana. Hollywood and Hollywood women
have worked the great transformation.
Ah me — yes, Hollywood changes people
and people change Hollywood. But the
Great God Glamour was worshipped from
the start as it is today. That's one thing,
you can bet, that will never change, not
as long as G for glamour is also G for
gold. Or better yet, G for Goldwyn. Be-
cause salesman Sam Goldwyn is one ped-
dler of that marvelous merchandise who's
still with us today with his Goldwyn Girls
and his super-expensive epics. I remem-
ber Sam's greatest production although it
was twenty-odd years ago and I'll re-
member it just as brightly and as awe-
somely twenty years from now if I'm not
a memory myself by then! Sam Gold-
wyn's greatest production wasn't a pic-
ture— it was a wedding.
super-nuptials . . .
We've had some mighty fancy nuptial
events in Hollywood. When Jeanette
MacDonald and her Prince Charming,
Gene Raymond, told it to the preacher a
few years ago down on Wilshire Boule-
vard, I thought they made a slight mis-
take. With all the people they had for
that exhibition they'd have done a lot
better in the Rose Bowl. Jeanette was
out to out- bride all brides and Gene was
willin', too. The result was practically a
Hollywood Roman holiday for heartstrings.
You could have made a good B pic-
ture with half the time and effort, but
it wouldn't have been half so good a show.
I think the height of something, to my
distorted mind, was reached when Jean-
ette, who was set on a perfect color
scheme for her bridesmaids, asked Ginger
Rogers, her good friend, to change the
color of her hair for the wedding, so she'd
match. Well, Ginger had a mess of pump-
kin colored tresses at that point which
were very necessary to a picture she was
■ ft ■ ■ ■ H 1 I
Dear Modern Screen Gang:
I'm not much on a lot of language, and
I'm not much on birthdays. Never cele-
brated my own till Modern Screen egged
me on to it last year. That's maybe why
I'm feeling pretty conscious of yours this
year. Can't let it go by without wishing
you the best.
I'm the original movie mag fan, Al. As
a kid back home, I used to snip out pic-
tures and paste them on the ceiling, so I
could look at 'em lying in bed. Dad
thought I was nuts. Just the same, he
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and now they're stacked in my closets
against the day when I get time to read
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making and the answer had to be No.
It was a case of crisis and I've forgotten
how Ginger solved it, but for a while our
blushing bride was in a tizzy.
Viewing all the Jeanette and Gene su-
per-nuptials, I remember the Hollywood
cynics (Now, I don't mean me) got up a
pool. They made bets about how long
this glorified union would last. I'm afraid
I'll have to report that most guesses
weren't on the long side. But— and there
you are— it's still going strong.
Deanna Durbin didn't have such for-
ever after luck with her marriage, but its
another Hollywood wedding that gives me
spots before the eyes. Because Deanna
was the Cinderella girl— Little Miss Bride
—in person. She had what every girl
dreams about at her wedding to Vaughn
Paul. She had love, love, love. She had
all of young and beautiful Hollywood to
watch her march to the altar. Cameras,
police, wedding suppers, gorgeous gifts
and a trousseau to end all trousseaus.
And, unless my eyes deceived me, she
wore it all at once. ,
But 1 was talking about Sam Goldwyn s
wedding wasn't I? Sam's star's wedding,
I mean— Vilma Banky. She married Rod
LaRoque — remember?
I think Vilma Banky was about as great
a natural beauty as we ever had in
Hollywood. One of those blond Hun-
garian women who look like honey
whipped with country cream. You
wouldn't call Rod any Boris Karlorf,
either. So when they fell in love and
decided to make themselves one it was a
natural. Sam not only decided to give it
the Goldwyn touch, he took it over, just
like Vilma was his daughter.
There were twenty-two — count em —
22 separ-te showers for Vilma, to start the
ball rol _ng. Sam made out the lists
of showerettes. Not only that, he let each
one know exactly what present to bring
and how much to spend. Naturally, be-
fore that gift marathon expired there were
enough presents to stock a store. In fact,
the bride collected them all together and
wanted to hire all the display windows of
Los Angeles' biggest department store to
exhibit them to the eager public, but
Sam's wife finally talked her out of that.
the gold goldwyn touch . . .
Everything else Sam managed and he
managed it with the gold Goldwyn touch,
with an eye, of course, to the Hollywood
sheep and goats. There were three sep-
arate invitations to the wedding festivities.
I can see them now, each printed on dif-
ferent color paper, tickets for the three
main events, the church wedding, the re-
ception, the supper. Believe me, you had
to be good to make all three. But some-
how I did. That's why I know how Sam
Goldwyn knocked himself out. He must
have spent half the cost of an epic pic-
ture to marry off Vilma. He tossed dollars
around like beans. He bought a copy of
Emily Post's Etiquette and whatever Em-
ily said the bride's father must pay for,
Sam paid. But when he read that the
groom stood the bill for the flowers Sam
collared Rod and made him kick in—
although that was . a drop in the bucket.
You see, Sam wanted everything fit and
proper according to Emily— and he got
it. What a wedding! I can see Tom Mix
now, riding up in a special cowboy wed-
ding outfit in a carriage that had belonged
to the Kaiser. C. B. DeMille was best
man and when the organ pealed out it
played that piece, "Oh, King of Kings"
and everybody chuckled. "Leave it to
DeMille," they said, "to plug his picture."
He'd just finished "King of Kings."
But Hollywood was just the same.
Glamour was the god and Vanity the
theme song. I've never seen such a
spread of food that weighted the long re-
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U
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Place right hand, palm up, on one
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ception tables at the Old Beverly Hills
Hotel. Turkeys, pheasants, hams, roasts,
suckling pigs, and all that went with
them; cakes, ices, fancy French dishes and
desserts. There was enough food for an
army and there was an army of glamour
there to eat it. Only nobody did. There
were guards to see that nobody committed
that sacrilege. Not a turkey was sliced.
It was all for show! So everyone filled
up on the bathtub gin (it was Prohibition
then) and when the reception was over
all of Hollywood had a snootful and half
the town wasn't speaking to the other half
for weeks!
Speaking of weddings— I see where Glo-
ria Swanson tried it again the other day.
That's five times now for Queen Gloria,
and I call her that because Swanson will
always be "Queen Gloria" to us Holly-
wood old timers. When I first knew that
gorgeous gal she was queen of the Para-
mount lot and jealous of her throne. She'd
passed through her first not so happy
homes with Wally Beery and Herb Som-
born (who founded all the Hollywood
Brown Derbies), and was about to lay
Hollywood right on its ear with the third.
But first, Gloria had to battle for her
throne and ward off a foreign invasion in
the person of exotic Pola Negri. The
struggle is still known in Hollywood as
"The Battle of the Cats"— no offense
meant, girls. These were real cats. '
scat, cat . . .
You see, Gloria was a great lover of our
feline friends and during her early sway
tabbies and pussies roamed at will all
over the Paramount lot and woe unto
anyone who disturbed a hair of their pre-
cious hides. Then in swept Pola from
Mittel Europa to challenge Queen Gloria
right in her own cat infested domain.
And if there was one thing on this earth
that gave Pola the pip— it was cats! They
made her scream, have bad dreams and
tantrums and she couldn't work. But the
minute Pola's minions scatted a tomcat
off the lot, in stepped Gloria to accept the
gage of battle. It was love me, love my
cats and pretty soon Paramount was di-
vided into warring factions. It almost
wrecked the joint. Pola's friends shooed
all the. cats away and Gloria's loyal sub-
jects dragged them back in. Swanson's
shock troops poured milk in a hundred
studio saucers every day and Pola's pals
dumped it out. Pretty soon production
was at a standstill and a few executives
had nervous breakdowns. So Gloria went
off to New York in a huff, the first to break
off the battle, but to this day when you
mention cats around Paramount you want
to smile, sister — smile.
But what I remember about Queen
Gloria most was her triumphant return
to Hollywood, with a real, live marquis in
tow. That was her third marriage and
Swanson was right in her prime and to
us Hollywood yokels nobility was some-
thing new and different and very, very
awe inspiring. Believe me, we were im-
pressed. Talk about fans mobbing Frank
Sinatra and Van Johnson— say, all Holly-
wood acted like a bunch of bobbysockers.
Gloria had met and married the Mar-
quis de la Falaise in Paris where she'd
made her first French movie, "Madame
Sans Gene." "Hank," as we soon knew
him, was a nice guy and I'm sure he was
not only confoozed but amoozed at the
circus parade Hollywood staged to greet
its very first, genuine Almanach de Gotha
title snagged by a home town gal.
hail the queen . . .
I can still see the big banner stretched
clear across Hollywood Boulevard at Vine
Street. "WELCOME HOME QUEEN
GLORIA" it screamed, although the dear
gal was only a marquise. The crowds were
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so thick you couldn't wiggle. And for two
blocks down the street from the studio
gates there were wooden bleachers with
reserved seats for all the Hollywood big
shots. There was a brass band, too— hon-
est—blaring out the "Marsellaise' and
"My Country 'Tis of Thee" and "Here
Comes the Bride." Whistles tooted, horns
blew, drums rattled and cameras whirred.
But the sweetest touch of all, I thought,
were the flower girls. Paramount had
gathered up all the female moppets in
Hollywood it seemed, dressed them in
organdie frocks and stationed them along
the last grand line of march. All the flower
gardens in Southern California had been
stripped of blooms to shower the royal
pair. But all available baskets and buckets
gave out quickly so most of the little gar-
land tossers had to use what Paramount
could find. And until my dying day 111
never forget the sight of Queen Gloria
and her noble knight riding in triumph
up to Paramount's gates, pelted with roses
and posies snatched by dainty little ringers
—out of galvanized garbage cans!
Royalty, somehow, always makes me
think of Doug Fairbanks and Mary Pick-
ford, Hollywood's Royal Family, but espe-
cially good old Doug, as charming a man
as ever lived. And, thank goodness, he
passed on his charm and love of life and
talent to his son Doug, Jr.— excuse me,
Lieut. Commander Douglas Fairbanks,
USNR. Doug. Jr., was almost spoiled by
coming to Hollywood too young and get-
ting exposed to the glamour school, but he
snapped out of it and he made a name
his Dad would be mighty proud of. And
how thrilled Doug would have been if he d
been alive the other day when the King of
England decorated his son for gallantry.
How Doug loved royalty, and pomp and
circumstance and courtly glamour! Mary
and Doug were as near as Hollywood ever
got to a royal family and as near to a
Dear Al and Henry:
Some day in 1985, Nancy and III be
sitting by the fire, remembering. And III
say, "Did that happen before little Frankie
was born?" (Gosh, will we still be calling
him little Frankie?!) and Nancy'll say,
"Well, we don't have to break our heads.
Let's look it up in Modern Screen."
So I'll get the files out and put on my
specs and, whatever we're looking for,
betcha we'll find it. It'll be like going
through the old family album, only more
so. Words and pictures. Cute gags the
kids pulled. An evening at home with
Nancy that we'd both forgotten, and that
starts us dreaming back. Old friends and
bobbysockers— "Bless 'em," says Nancy,
and I say, "Amen." It's a priceless record,
boys, and something we never could have
done for ourselves.
There'll be a picture on the piano of
Nancy and the children and me, as we
were in 1945. It's not there yet, but I'm
hoping it will be. I'd like Gus Gale to
make it— there's something Gus catches
in a kid's face that we'd like to keep. If
that's okay with you, I promise you one
thing The picture'll still be there on Mod-
ern Screen's fifty-fifth birthday. We'll look
at it, Nancy and I, and we'll say, as we re
saying now, "Thanks for the memories.
As ever,
Frank
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perfect movie marriage too, and I always
thought that the heart-shaped drive which
led up to Pickfair was more than symbolic.
I happen to know that they missed recon
ciliation by just three hours, after Doug
had had his European fling and before
Mary fell in love with Buddy Rogers —
but that's a story I'll save for later.
I was always soft on Doug — he could
make you feel like a princess with that
flashing smile — and I knew him a long,
long time. In fact, it was Doug's first wife,
Beth Sully (who's Doug, Jr.'s mother)
who found me my first house in Hollywood
and dug me up two Japanese servants. But
there's one thing I always held against
him and Mary and that was the old-fash-
ioned, intolerant way they treated Joan
Crawford when young Doug married her,
very definitely without royal consent.
Oddly enough, it was royalty that first
opened the doors of Pickfair to Joan.
When Lord Louis Mountbatten and his
Lady, first cousins to the Royal House of
Windsor, made their first visit to Holly
wood, they stayed at Pickfair and at that
time Doug, Jr. and Joan were in the dog-
house. Joan was a daughter-in-law of our
Hollywood Royal House, but she'd never
been inside it. She'd never been invited.
The Hey-Hey girl and flaming Charleston
champ that Joan was then, the girl-about-
town gone Hollywood, the ex-chorine
turned movie star, was too much for the
dignity of Pickfair to swallow. At that
awkward moment came a royal command
which Doug and Mary could not refuse.
The Mountbattens wished very much to
meet their glamorous daughter-in-law,
Miss Joan Crawford, whose fame had
spread to the British Isles as well as to
the rest of the world, despite Doug's and
Mary's frowns.
So the invitation, long delayed, arrived
and Joan almost swooned with excite-
ment. As usual, she made the visit a
production. She had a special gown of
white satin whipped up with a long train
— she was going to meet royalty, wasn't
she? She had a court coiffure and all the
jewels she could muster. She drove up to
Pickfair in style and tried to look regal
and ladylike as she tripped into the room,
although she was nervous as a witch. But
alas — luck was against Crawford. As she
glided up to the Mountbattens to make
her curtsey, a servant happened to step
on the train, just on the edge — but it was
enough. "R-r-r-i-p!" Off it came, down
it fell, and you could cut the silence with
a knife. Joan gave one dismayed look,
gasped, colored, turned — and fled.
I've always felt sorry for Joan Crawford.
I know it's tough to feel sorry for anyone
who has made as much money as Joan
has, or basked in the spotlight of fame
for so long. Joan has had almost every
worldly thing you can get out of Holly-
wood. But she has never been satisfied with
herself. She has always wanted to be some-
body different than Lucille LeSeur. I've
seen Joan's various personalities come and
go, but the Joan Crawford I liked best —
and I don't think I was alone, because
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jivin* foait . . .
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for a string of pearls) hung in her room.
Both the cups and the portraits are care-
fully stowed away in the basement now.
Joan wasn't so ladylike then, but what
sup
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is better for a movie star she had person-
ality and color. She had more beaus than
a debutante, too, and she had a heart as big
as all outdoors, which she still has.
I remember one night after hey-heying
into the wee hours at the Montmartre, as
she did about every night then, Joan sped
home in the cool dawn with her escort, a
young man about town whose name you
wouldn't know. The top was down and
cooling off too quickly gave the poor chap
pneumonia. He died from it and it turned
out he hadn't a friend in Hollywood-
except Joan. So she arranged for the
funeral and tidied up all his affairs, even
went around to all her friends, gathered
them in for his last rites and had them
write letters home and you'd have thought
the fellow had been one of Hollywood's
most respected citizens.
Joan seemed to be a femme fatale that
way for a lot of men. She went with
Jimmie Hall and he died. Monroe Owsley
was another beau who passed on after a
Crawford romance. That's just coinci-
dence, of course. A great many others
have loved Joan and survived very well,
thanks, including Phil Terry and Franchot
Tone, the "Gardenia Man" (Joan was
going through a gardenia phase in their
courtship — remember?) and, of course,
Doug, Jr., the "Dodo" whom I wonder
if she really has ever forgotten.
Rambling on about Joan Crawford takes
me back to the night life we had in the
dear, dim days.
Hollywood goes snooty . . .
Hollywood first got exclusive at the Little
Club in the Ambassador where only the
bon ton and the elite could cavort and
caper on bathtub gin. But I think Holly-
wood snootiness flowered much later on
at the Mayfair dances. Something hap-
pened there I'll never forget.
The Mayfair numbered Hollywood's
ultra-smart set. A Hollywood copy of the
London West Enders, of course, and oh,
my dear, so formal. For a time its balls
made news all over the world and I doubt
if there was ever a more publicized and
flash-bulbed Peacock Alley anywhere.
But it was never the same after the
"White Mayfair." They should have called
it The Black Mayfair. But the cause of
it all was a scarlet dress.
Bette Davis snatched that incident for
one of the best scenes in one of her best
pictures, "Jezebel." But Bette wasn't in-
volved in the original. The stars were
Carole Lombard and Norma Shearer.
They'd dumped this particular Mayfair
right in Carole's lap. She was the gal to
plan it, stage it and run it, and whenever
Carole took on a job she threw her whole
vital being into it. She decided on a white
ball — all the ladies to wear white, without
a touch of color anywhere. It seemed like
a swell idea and everyone promised to
rally round.. For weeks every Hollywood
couturier was wearing his fingers to the
bone stitching on white silks and satins.
Came the big night and the ball was half-
way through and going like a house afire
and Carole, although she'd knocked her-
self out with all the work, was as happy
as only Carole could be when she was
having fun.
red scare . . .
Then in through the foyer and down the
steps of the old Victor Hugo restaurant,
(now Adrian's swank's gown shop) where
the ball was held, swept Norma Shearer,
smiling her pearlies from ear to ear, dead
sure that every eye in the house was on
no one but her. Because she had on the
reddest red evening gown you ever saw.
The only spot of fiery color in the whole
place!
There was one mass gasp. People were
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whiter than the holy-white dress she wore.
Then she turned and walked out of the
place.
I saw a tall, dark and extremely hand-
some guy hurry after her. He followed her
out the door and he took her home. His
name was Clark Gable. That was the night
their romance really began.
I've known lots of vain ladies in my
time in Hollywood. Norma Shearer is not
the only peacock in the pen, of course. It's
an occupational affliction and I've got a
touch myself. Marlene Dietrich, much as
I admire her, was so darned mirror-happy
when she first came to Hollywood that it's
a wonder she didn't cut herself to pieces
every move she made. Marlene had mir-
rors on the walls, the floor and the ceiling
wherever she stayed more than a couple
of hours. She just naturally admired the
sight of her famous face and figure, and
who else didn't? Dolores Del Rio, that
unearthly beauty from Mexico, was
troubled the same way. Once, I know,
Orry-Kelly, who used to dream up cre-
ations for Warner Brothers stars, made a
white fringed, daringly decollete gown
for Dolores. It was a knockout, all right,
and revealed much of Dolores' beautiful
bronze body topped by her glossy, patent-
leather coiffure, liquid eyes and heav-
enly, sensuous mouth. The effect was
much too much for Del Rio. When she saw
herself in the mirror she gasped and then
impulsively ran up to the glass— and kissed
her image!
But Norma, when she was queen of
Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer, could give Del
Rio cards and spades. Once, during the
Depression when all the other stars at
M-G-M were limited by strict studio
decree to three takes on all closeups (to
save film- and money) Norma shot no less
than fifteen reels on one scene alone, the
balcony scene in "Romeo and Juliet." And
my sharp little eyes caught Norma red
handed once in a plain case of preening.
That was the night they premiered "Marie
Antoinette," Norma's most lavish effort
and first stab at movie royalty. There was
a big post-premiere party scheduled at the
Troc and half of Hollywood as well as
an army of fans followed Norma from the
theater to the supper spot. At the premiere,
Shearer was a vision in a cloth-of-gold
evening gown. But when she sat down
at the Trocadero blowout she wore black
sequins. I never knew where or when
she made the quick change — maybe in the
ladies' powder room — but anyway when
I saw that, I said, "Baby, now you've seen
everything in the vanity department."
Carole Lombard never forgave Norma.
But I'd say it was worth it, considering
that Gable took her side and soon took
over her heart, too. I was always crazy
about Carole. I never knew a franker,
more honest, more utterly fascinating gal.
And I knew Carole a long time. In fact,
I was there the day Carole Lombard was
born.
star naming . . .
Wait a minute — don't get me wrong. I'm
no midwife, or even a nurses' aide and
I'm really not that old— honest. What I
mean is that I happened to be hanging
around the day Jane Peters changed her
name to Carole Lombard, the name by
which the world will always know that
swell person who gave her life for her
country just as surely as if she'd gone
over the top.
It was up at Harry Lombard's house.
Harry was no relation whatever to Carole.
But he and his wife were two of the
dearest friends a lot of us had in Los
Angeles in those days. The Lombards
weren't professionals, but they had a lot
of friends in the movie colony and some-
how everybody met there for cocktails
about every day at a hospitable open house
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that Harry held. You could always find
everybody you knew at Harry's. Carole,
I mean little Jane Peters, was a pet there.
From a good Los Angeles family, Jane
had ducked out of her fashionable girls'
school a movie star for to be. She burned
with ambition, but to me she always looked
like she needed to grow up some more.
She looked about 14 that day, but her
violet eyes (no one ever had violet eyes
like Carole) were shining like the star
sapphires she later loved so well.
She burst into the room and we almost
dropped our gin fizzes. "I've got a con-
tract!" she cried. "Darlings, look at me—
I'm a leading lady! Fox has signed me to
play opposite Eddie Lowe!" It was her
first Hollywood break. Her first crack at
being an actress. She bounced around the
room like a rubber doll.
Then Harry Lombard sighed, "You 11
never get famous as Jane Peters. It's too
plain. Who'll want to see Jane Peters up
in lights?" . ■ ,
Carole stopped dead and frowned. Oh,
damn!" she said. "I never thought of that.
Of course I won't. I'll simply have to get
a new name. What on earth will it be?"
"How about mine?" suggested Harry.
"How about Jane Lombard? That's more
theatrical." And Harry wasn't theatrical
at all.
But the 'Jane' was still wrong and every-
body in the big room started chipping in
with suggestions. Finally somebody, I've
forgotten who, came up with Carole and
the new Miss Lombard snatched it like
a trout does a fly. "That's it," she cried
happily. "Meet Carole Lombard." So we
did and afterwards so did a lot of other
people.
I hope Clark finds the right girl to make
him happy and marries again. That's what
Carole would want him to do and I think
he knows it. That doesn't mean that he'll
ever forget her. The only personal
treasure Clark salvaged out of the charred
wv-Jwwwwvvvv
aw
Dear Modern Screen:
A little bird told me you were having a
birthday, so I had to write.
You know, I used to think editors were
all sort of middle-aged and serious, and
I'll never forget how surprised I was when
I first met you and Sylvia and Henry. I
suppose you must be serious too, in a way,
else you couldn't be running a magazine
like Modern Screen. But Sylvia's so young
and pretty, and you two boys are so young
and, well — cute-looking, with your grins
and your crewcuts. (Which reminds me,
is there a rule about crewcuts for Modern
Screen editors? You don't have to an-
swer.)
Anyway, you turned out to be just as
gay and human as you looked, and I think
of you more as friends than editors. That
goes for the whole staff. Know what I read
first in the magazine? The editorial page.
It's like family news — parties and pictures
of Pete and all about that nice Jean Kin-
kead and her husband in the South Pacific.
You're all real to me — same as you
try to make us real to the readers, and I
only hope they react the same way I do.
Because knowing you makes me think
you're a grand gang.
Many happy returns.
Your friend,
Lana
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HOLLYWOOD FILM STUDIOS • 7021 Santa Monica Blvd., Hollywood 31, Calif.
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122
LOOK THRU YOUR ALBUM
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Hair
plane wreck that he found on the side of
that mountain where Carole met death was
part of a ruby clip she was wearing. He
had given it to her a short while before.
He had a special box made for that
precious fragment and he has carried it
ever since. He carried it when he went
bombing over Germany and he carries
it today. I expect he always will.
school for scandal . . .
It was an ill-starred plane ride that shat-
tered another perfect marriage, and indi-
rectly, that launched one of the swellest
actresses into a school for scandal.
Kenneth Hawks was one of the nicest
guys I ever knew, besides being one of
Hollywood's best directors and the idol of
his wife, Mary Astor. But Kenneth went
up in a plane one day for some shots and
the plane wasn't constructed safely for
aerial photography. So they knocked off
a door to save a few dollars instead of
doing it right and that plane took Kenneth
and his crew down to their deaths.
Mary was madly in love with her direc-
tor husband. She was the sweetest, most
faithful wife in town. She'd been around
Hollywood since her silent star days when
she was only a girl, but such a beautiful
girl. And then Kenneth was killed. She
went all to pieces. It was Freddie March's
wife, Florence, who persuaded her to take
up her career again in a Broadway play.
Mary was just getting back on her feet
when along came Dr. Franklin Thorpe.
I was making "Holiday" with Mary when
Dr. Thorpe was courting her. Their rela-
tionship seemed to breed nothing but un-
happiness for Mary and her reaction was
to seek other companionship. George
Kauffman came along and the famous
"Diary." It dragged her private life
through the mud in court but it never
hurt Mary's career. She's better now than
she ever was, which goes to show whose
side Hollywood was on in that business.
Just as Hollywood, which has an un-
cannily keen sense of moral right and
wrong after all, always plugged for an
actress I'd rather not name (because I
like her so much) when she was under the
spell of her first husband.
No Hollywood wife ever stuck as
loyally to a bad actor husband as this
girl stuck to hers. Her trouble was that
she believed, almost religiously, that the
guy was the greatest actor in the world
and that she, from a humble background,
was fit only to sit at the great man's feet
and admire. Her husband certainly never
corrected her on that impression. He's
doing all right on Broadway as I write this
and the critics hail him as what his wife
thought— a great, great actor. But in
Hollywood he was not only a flop, he was
an unpleasant flop, although his delusions
of grandeur never weakened. Next to
lousing up every movie he made, his
greatest contribution to Hollywood was
making his wife so unhappy at home that
she lost herself in her picture parts and
became twice the star he will ever be,
for my money.
He squandered her bankroll time and
again on flop plays to glorify himself. Her
money was his to spend and he wasn't
backward. Once, I remember, she sank
$10,000 into one of his shows and the open-
ing night her ever loving husband paid her
back by tumbling into the orchestra pit.
Once, too, I remember, they went to look at
a house to rent and while she was upstairs,
looking the place over, he, downstairs,
bought it without even a by-your-leave
and with her bonds.
When they finally got around to di-
vorcing, the jerk was so nasty about their
common property that the poor woman
had to call the cops.
Of course, why some stars marry the
LAUREN BACALL
Warner Bros. Star
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r per Catalog chock full of miniature photos
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159.
men they do will always be a mystery
to me. For instance, you know the reason
Jack Oakie became a movie star. Because
he'd been small fry in a Broadway show
where Joan Crawford didn't amount to so
much, either. "Innocent Eyes," it was
called. And when Jack heard about Joan's
movie break he came out to Hollywood
to marry her! Why did Gloria Swanson
ever marry Wally Beery? The idea seems
absurd. Why did Jean Harlow wed Paul
Bern, or Hal Rosson? But then why did
Charlie Chaplin marry Oona, a girl more
than twice as young as himself? Why did
Bette Davis ever let the only guy she
ever loved, Ham Nelson, divorce her?
I don't know why Ruth Chatterton ever
picked on George Brent to live with in
holy matrimony. But I do know how it
happened. Ruth came out from the stage,
very grand and impressive, a great actress,
and she had whatever her little heart de-
sired at Warner Brothers. Came the ques-
tion of her leading man and Chatterton
sat for days and days in a projection room
as reels and reels of Hollywood glamour
men ran off. Finally along at the tag
end a practically unknown Irishman came
on. "That's him. That's the one!" cried
Chatterton. "What's his name?" So she
put him in her picture and her house too,
by benefit of clergy. She taught him the
technique of studio rebellion and he
worked it overtime from then on.
In fact, George Brent has been on more
suspensions than a trapeze artist. Once,
Warners searched for days the whole
United States for their missing star. No
results. Then one day George appeared
at the studio, out of nowhere. "Where have
you been?" they screamed.
George's eyes were wide with inno-
cence. "Here at the studio," he said. They
snorted bitterly. But it was true. All the
time he'd been living in his own dressing
room, right on the lot! ^
But George Brent wasn't the type of
mate for Ruth Chatterton. He's a sulky,
unruly, rough Joe, despite his charm. Be-
neath the veneer that Chatterton tried
to gloss him with, he remained George
Brent, black Irishman. But Ruth Chatter-
ton was one of Hollywood's first Grand
Ladies. At least that was her publicity peg
and I'm sure Ruth, for one, believed it.
When I think of Hollywood's Grand
Ladies before and since, I have to stifle
a few unladylike chuckles. Dear, sweet
Irene Dunne, the Kentucky songbird. "I'm
going to revolutionize my whole person-
ality," Irene announced once. "I'm going to
start chewing gum!" And Grace Moore,
tops in temperament, during her brief stay
with us yokels. There was a great crisis
on "New Moon," I remember, because
Grace had to wear Russian boots and she
said the thick soles ruined her voice. And
all you had to do to toss La Moore into a
tizzy was say, "Jellicoe, Tennessee." She
didn't like to be reminded of her home
town. I suppose she thought she ought to
have been born in Graustark.
But I suppose to most people, Holly-
wood's grandest lady as ever was is the
girl who got in on a rain check. I mean
Greta Garbo. Garbo was lugged along by
her Svengali, Maurice Stiller. The great
foreign director wouldn't come to Holly-
wood and make an epic without his youth-
ful protege. So Hollywood said, "Well —
okay," and added an extra $200 a week
salary for the dumb dame, charging it off
to petty cash. But Stiller's picture was
tossed out. A new one was shot with new
clothes, new story, new director— but the
same gal that nobody wanted at first —
Greta. They kept Garbo and fired Stiller
and that's how we got our Swede.
About Garbo I'm like Westbrook Pegler
is about Harold Ickes. I've never been
fooled for a minute, although a lot of our
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Just to get acquainted we will
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If beauty thrills you — you will be fascinated by these photos
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Dept. AA6 NEW YORK CITY 3. N. Y.
ENLARGEMENT
Just to get acquainted, we will beautifully enlarge your favorite snap-
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inches, if you enclose this ad with a 3c stamp for return
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DEAN STUDlns. Dept 1215, 211 w. 7th St.. Pes Moines. Iowa
BHB WEAR IT FOR
NAME or
INITIALS
ENGRAVED
FREE
v^___.-«»^ Available in Army
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1301 SURF AVE., Dept. 25Q-M.S\, BROOKLYN (24), N. Y.
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HOLLYWOOD SCREEN EXCHANGE
Box 1150 — Dept. 2
Hollywood 28, Calif., U. S. A.
Beaufifuf Si mu /a fed
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The latesi
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satisfied ret,?™ .bracelet Wear on ten days trial. It not
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Jefrerson, Iowa
EMPIRE DIAMOND CO.
better stars have swooned away, worship-
ping her mysterious, spiritual, divine glory.
Ho-hum! Marlene Dietrich, much as I ad-
mire her, was a rabid fan of Garbo's for
years and did everything she could to meet
her, and, far as I know, never succeeded.
Joan Crawford had pictures of Garbo all
over her M-G-M dressing room and almost
fell on her face trying to get chummy with
Greta. But though her dressing room was
right next door, she never made it.
Garb o-Mamoulian, and the chases
through the desert. Garbo-George Brent,
and more hide-and-seek. Garbo-Sto-
kowski on the isle of Capri. Garbo-Dr.
Gaylord Hauser and raw carrots. Garbo-
several other people. She's had her share
of romances. But in that department Gar-
bo always brings to my mind high strung,
wild, neurotic, too good-looking John Gil-
bert, who busted his heart over Greta
and died of the strain, I firmly believe.
Jack Gilbert installed a suite of rooms for
Garbo up in his Tower Road mansion. It
had shiny black marble walls, but when
Greta took one look, she said, "Ay don'
like." She said they were too smooth and
shiny, so Jack spent Lord knows how much
money having them all fluted. He was
that mad about her, and he came as near
as any man to marrying her.
They even went down to the marriage
bureau to get a license— but at the last
minute Garbo got panicky and ran out
of the hall like an awkward, frightened
kid. Jack was so shocked that he almost
came to his senses. In fact, he" did, just long
enough to marry lovely Ina Claire on the
rebound. Garbo was making a picture on
location at Catalina Island when they
brought her the news of John Gilbert's
marriage. You know what she did? She
laughed — the loudest anyone ever heard
her laugh until she made "Ninotchka."
I will say that for once Garbo acted like
a lady. That was her pay-off to poor,
beatendown John Gilbert when she chose
him for "Queen Christina." Maybe her
conscience caught up with her and maybe
it was just a case of thinking the old
Gilbert- Garbo team would revive again
and lay 'em in the aisles. Anyway, it was
Garbo, against M-G-M's better judgment,
who insisted that Jack get that part. He
was in such a nervous state making it that
he couldn't say the simplest lines for days
and lost his lunch time and again on the
set. Pure nerves.
In fact, the greatest good that came out
of "Queen Christina" was another lucky
case of a free pass to Hollywood for a
great star. Miss Vivien Leigh. Yep, "Scar-
lett" of "Gone With the Wind."
They'd have you know, of course,, that
Vivien was the pearl unearthed after
worldwide searches for the one, the only
the perfect "Scarlett." Well, Dave Selznick'
did do a lot of lookin', all right, but why
should he look for a Southern Belle in
England— ever think of that? Vivien Leigh
came to Hollywood as a bonus to lure
Laurence Olivier.
You see, M-G-M wanted Olivier to team
with the throaty Swede in "Queen Chris-
tina." They even had his clothes all made,
and Larry had his lines all learned, his
make-up tests— every thing. Then, in stepped
our stubborn friend and said, "No— I want
John Gilbert." So they signed John and
next time when Hollywood sounded its
siren call Olivier yawned, "I say, old
boy, have you heard any more funny
stories?" He was in love with lovely
Leigh and he liked England just fine. To
get him across for Heathcliffe or some-
thing, I've forgotten which, they had to
invite unknown Vivien, too. And what
should she run right into but the mam-
moth, colossal, jumbo Scarlett O'Hara
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her, as some people think. It was his
brother, Myron, an agent. Dave, I'm afraid,
laughed heartily at the very idea of a
British belle for a "you-all" yum-yum.
But a test told the tale and the rest is
Hollywood history. My cockeyed hat is
off, by the way, to Olivier and Leigh.
They proved what great actors they were
not only in movies but in Shakespeare.
But — hey, here — I said I was going to let
down a few bobby pins, and look — my
hair's down to my hips like the Seven
Sutherland Sisters. Here are a few choice
memories — gay and grim — that stick in my
addled brain.
Well, there was the "Society for the
Protection of Olivia De Havilland" which
shows you how soft-hearted Hollywood
males can get. I've forgotten who be-
longed, practically every man who ever
worked at Warner's, through Basil Rath-
bone, Errol Flynn, Brian Aherne, a dozen
others anyway, all soft as mush on sweet,
untouched Olivia and sworn to keep the
wolves away from her door. Gosh, I re-
member on "Anthony Adverse," a certain
wolfish actor got to ducking into Olivia's
dressing room and closing the door. But
the "Protection" society fixed that. They
took off the roof of Liv's room, so all the
grips, juicers and carpenters up on the
rafters could look right down and foil the
rascal! Then what did snowy white Olivia
do but go hey -hey on the crowd and
start having one red-hot romance after
another!
Then — whoops — what a buzz there was
when we had our first visiting Indian
Maharajah and a certain studio's stars
turned out en masse to wine and dine
him, leaving out a pretty little Negro
actress who was hurt and unhappy. But
on his way out of the studio the Rajah
saw her, asked her into his car and away
they sped. And the next day what a
gorgeous emerald ring she had!
There was Mae West, too, and the ghost
husband who popped up to pop Mae out
of Hollywood. I always liked Mae and I
remember once when a group of visiting
Washington Senators and their wives
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Dear Al and Henry:
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to congratulate Modern Screen on being
fifteen. My baby's wonderful, thank you.
How's yours?
I know the answer. I've been reading
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of pep and bounce. It's honest too, that's
what I like about it. Your writers take
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don't misquote you. They don't put words
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you never meant. When the story comes
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I wonder if you realize how much we
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one on Modern Screen who's let me down.
So here's happy birthday to them and
all of you from
Vicki, Harry and Betty James
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came on her set. Paramount was quaking
like jelly; they thought the wives would
cut sexy Mae cold. But in no time at all
she had them under her thumb and ex-
changing recipes. I'll never forget a visit
I made to Mae's fantastic apartment in
Hollywood. That luscious nude of herself
in the front room, all the white rugs and
things and artificial flowers all over the
room with the real ones dying to be picked
outside in the sun. Mae swished up in a
slinky negligee and a cloud of perfume that
almost knocked me over. Then in from
the next apartment wafted a strong odor
of — onion soup! That somehow spelled
Mae to me — sexy and high falutin' for the
act — but plain as a pot of soup underneath.
I can get sad when I think of ravishing
Jean Harlow, the fatal beauty who had a
horrid time out of her fame and finally
died because she couldn't say "No" to the
army of parasites who lived her life for
her. And poor Bill Powell, whom she
loved so much before she died and who put
a gardenia in her hand when she lay cold
and quiet.
I can get blue about a lot of memories —
Charlie Chaplin's kiddie sex cutups
through the years to stain the name of a
great artist— Errol Flynn's indiscretions,
too, because he's such a charming blarney
peddler under it all— Poor Lupe Velez's
way out, which wasn't like her and still
a puzzle to me — and the strange death of
Thelma Todd.
But there are chuckles and grins to bal-
ance. I think of Ann Sothern's excited
Hollywood debut, when, as Harriet Lake,
M-G-M called her into the recording studio
and she thought she was making a big
test for a part. Only to step in a movie
house a little later, see a Pete Smith
canine short and hear her voice dubbed
in as "Mrs. Dog!" Ha! I can still see the
consternation on Jean Arthur's face when
the governor of Arizona introduced her at
a big banquet as "Miss Gene Autry!"
Well, it was always that way in this
off-the-beam, custard-pie town. As for
getting bigger and better— well— the late
Tom Mix still holds the record for the
biggest salary check ever cashed in this
town and he had the greatest army of fans.
Good old Tom — he was Hollywood right in
the flesh— with all its poses but its basic
virtues, too. I loved the hard-bitten, battle-
scarred gent— and he was one— and I re-
member when Tom brought his last wife
to the massive Beverly Hills mansion his
riches had bought. She was an ex-circus
acrobat and nobody knew Tom was mar-
ried again until they saw this gal in pink
tights out tumbling on the front lawn.
Somebody called him on the phone.
"Who is that lady doing cartwheels on
your lawn, Tom?" they asked.
"That ain't no lady," barked Tom, "that's
my wife!" Just like the old vaudeville
wheeze.
I don't know who .owns Tom Mix's big
mansion now. But not long ago a very
dignified event was held there — a tea
honoring Madame Secretary Frances Per
kins of President Roosevelt's cabinet, and
some other visiting Washington big shots
About all that remains of Tom's glory in
the great house, I noticed, is the bell-cord
that hangs in the parlor. I remember
when Tom wove that bell cord out of hi
beloved horse, Tony's, tail.
I had to snigger — and I'll bet Tom had a
snigger with me, somewhere up in the
Last Round Up — to think that the cord
that rang for Madame Perkins' tea was —
old Tony's tail!
Sic transit gloria mundi — as the Latin
scholars say, which liberally translated
means: "Anything can happen in this crazy
world!" Only, in Hollywood you can
double that in spades!
FREE OFFER!
Of course, we think all the stories in this, our Birthday issue are terrific — but
just to show you we love you, and 'cause we'd like to know, we're still making our
usual offer — 500 FREE Dell mags for 500 speed demons who will answer, and
whip off to us — the Questionnaire below. Be sure yours is in the mail by not
later than May 20th — to be sure that you'll be one of the lucky ones to get an
exciting Dell Mag FREE!
QUESTIONNAIRE
What stories and features did you enjoy most in our June Birthday issue?
Write 1, 2, 3 at the right of your 1st, 2nd and 3rd choices.
Happy Birthday from M.G.M □
Happy Birthday from 20th-century
Fox □
Happy Birthday from Paramount .. □
Hedda Hopper's Secret Memoirs...^
These are the Unforgettables! □
These are the Loveliest! Q
Clark Gable's Life Story Q
Louella Parson's Good News □
Which of the above did you like LEAST?
What 3 stars would you like to read about in future issues? List them 1, 2, 3 in
order of preference
.Zone
State .
My name is
My address is City. . .
I am years old.
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